


Kiss It Better

by woah_easy_tiger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always Female Sam Winchester, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Angst and Romance, Big Brother Dean Winchester, Big Spoon Dean Winchester, Brother/Sister Incest, Comfort, Comfort/Angst, Comforting Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Do not post to other sites, Dubcon - Age, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Porn, F/M, Fem Sam, Fem!Sam, First Love, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Het, Hickeys, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I just want to wrap them both in hugs tbh, Injury, Injury Recovery, John Winchester Tries, Little Sisters, Lots and lots of sex, Love Bites, Mildly Dubious Consent, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, My First Smut, NSFW, Non-Canon Relationship, Oral Sex, Parent John Winchester, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Series Dean Winchester, Pre-Series Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Pre-Series Sam Winchester, Pre-teen Sam Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Rule 63, Samantha Winchester - Freeform, Sex, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Smut, Teen Angst, Teen Dean Winchester, Teenchesters, Underage - Freeform, Weecest, Weecheesters, Wincest - Freeform, Winsister, Woobie, Woobie Dean Winchester, Woobie Sam Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, gender flip, gentle!dean, girl sam, girl!Sam, het wincest - Freeform, little sister sam winchester, sam needs The Talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 11:31:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 44,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22647223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woah_easy_tiger/pseuds/woah_easy_tiger
Summary: Little sister Sam is in pain, and thinks she might be dying. She tries to hide it from her big brother Dean, but he finds out, and tries to help the best he can.This began life as one chapter, described in the previous sentence, but when it was finished, I kept daydreaming about more for these two. So, my first fic ever has morphed into a much larger than planned, entirely too slowly-written, 10-chapter story. A story of love, and devotion. Of angst, and comfort. Of pain, and healing. A story of exploration. A story of firsts - lots and lots of firsts.Angsty, fluffy, comfort-laden smut.Please read the tags, and if this is not your cup of tea, please do not read!I tried my best to include them all, and will add more as necessary as future chapters unfold, but if you think there's tags I missed, please let me know and I'll add them. Thanks!
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Samantha Winchester
Comments: 37
Kudos: 134





	1. Kiss It Better

**Author's Note:**

> Please do not repost to any other site. If you are reading this on any site other than AO3, it has been reposted there without the author's knowledge or permission.
> 
> I did not create, nor do I own, any of the characters. I just like to daydream about them, and write it down afterwards :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't have any particular medical or weapons expertise, nor have I ever had to give anyone "The Talk", so those parts might be a bit ridiculous. Mea culpa. 
> 
> 2nd warning - PLEASE READ THE TAGS - this fic is not for everyone. It's not too dark (I don’t think so, anyway), but Dean (and especially Sam) are below the age of consent, for most of the story, hence the mild dubcon. The story begins with Dean at age 15, and Sam age 11. 
> 
> Updates:  
2/10/21: If anyone is wondering why I write so slowly: 1. I am involved in pandemic response and have been working 60-70 weeks since the beginning of it, 2. I am new to writing and it does not come easy to me, or quickly, 3. I can't write for just 15 minutes at a pop here and there, I have to have a chunk of uninterrupted time set aside, at least a few hours at a time, 4. how my writing seems to evolve is through several drafts. First draft is like a basic framework of the series of scenes in the story, closer to a chronology than anything else, and includes only the "what, where, how, and when". This is relatively quick. Second draft is fleshing out descriptions of background details (sights, sounds, smells, textures), and more importantly, the thoughts, feelings, and motivations that go along with each scene, the "why" so to speak. For me, this takes a dry boring synopsis and turns it into an actual story that someone might care about enough to keep reading. This part takes me just about forever. Third draft is editing - fixing grammar and typos, making sure there's no contradictions to previous chapters, making sure the words/actions/emotions are in character, adjust pacing by streamlining or cutting sections that drag and/or expanding sections that seem skimpy, and sometimes completely overhauling sections that just don't feel like they're working at all for some reason. No matter how slowly it goes, I will never abandon this story - I've come too far now and I already have the basic plot of each chapter planned out. I think each chapter stands up ok both on its own, and as part of the larger story, but if you want to just subscribe and read it all in one go when it's finished, or if you give up on it completely due to my slow pace of writing, I wouldn't blame you one bit.

Sam knew something was wrong, really wrong. She had tried to keep it to herself, tried to live up to the Winchester name, and tough it out. Kept it from Daddy, which hadn't been that hard, really. He was away on hunts more and more lately, and when he was home, his smiles were always so tired. Seemed like as long as she or Dean weren't crying, fighting, or bleeding, her dad only worried about their training, and his next hunt. He had left again this morning, off to meet up with Uncle Bobby somewhere, and wouldn't be back for about a week.

It was a lot harder to try to hide it from Dean. It was hard to hide anything from him for long. So far, she didn't think he had noticed anything, but he always seemed to eventually figure out when something was up with her. From the kitchen table where she was doing her homework, she could see him sprawled out on the couch, watching a telenovella. The Spanish channel came in the clearest on the crummy tv that came with the apartment Dad had set them up in, and Dean had said that he didn’t mind, since it would only help him with the Spanish ladies. They didn’t know any Spanish ladies, except maybe he meant the maids at some of the motels they stayed at? They usually seemed nice enough, but maybe he wanted to be able to talk to them more.

Dean was always talking to girls, wherever they went. At the park, while he was waiting outside school to walk her home, at diners and arcades, in laundromats, girls always seemed happy to talk to Dean. Sometimes, it felt like they spent forever talking to her brother, leaving her bored and a little lonely. But after a while, Dean would always turn and look for Sammy, and scoop her up, and then it would be just her and Dean again. Sometimes at home, he’d tickle her until she couldn’t breathe, and then snuggle with her on the couch. “Just you and me against the world, Sammy”, he’d whisper real soft, like maybe he didn’t think she could hear him, and her heart would just burst with Dean, Dean, Dean.

But maybe someday soon it would just be Dean against the world, cause right now her problem was only getting worse. It hurt, and she wondered, not for the first time, if she was dying. She hoped so hard she wasn’t. But people died all the time. Her dad and her brother were hunters, and so she knew people died, and sometimes nothing could be done to stop it. The thought of dying, leaving Dean behind all alone in the world, was enough to make her choke up. She fought back tears and tried not to think about it, to concentrate on her homework. After a few more minutes of reading the same problem over again and again, Sam sighed, and started to put her books away. It was Saturday, and she had the rest of the weekend to finish it. She could work on it tomorrow, and maybe things would be better then. She put her books and homework away in her bookbag, and carried them past the living room towards her room.

“Want me to see if something else is on?” Dean called out as a flash of long chestnut locks moved past him in his periphery. No response. “Hey. Earth to Samantha” he called, turning to her. Sammy stopped on her way through the room, looking startled, like she had been deep in thought. "Wanna watch something? C'mon, it's the weekend. Stow the studying, brainiac, and come hang out with me. Check it out, I think Esperanza's about to lose her shit on Diego." Truth was, he felt like he hadn't seen much of his little sister for going on a week, and he missed her. Missed being tangled up together on the couch, watching her every-color eyes slowly close as she drifted off in his arms for a lazy afternoon nap. Sometimes, his heart swelled just thinking about it. Knowing she was near, safe...he wished he could tuck her up inside him, wrap around her and protect her from all the pain, and fear, and misery that he knew was out there beyond their wardings and salt lines. "C'mon, pipsqueak, get over here." He patted the empty spot next to him on the couch.

Sam seemed to mull it over, but then looked away and mumbled, “Nah, I’m gonna go read”. Dean fixed his gaze on her, as she tried to look back at him like nothing was wrong, nothing to see here, move along. After a long moment, he turned back to the drama unfolding in increasingly loud and fast Spanish. “Fine, go read. Dinner’s in a few hours. If you’re hungry before then there’s some peaches I bought you in the fridge.” He heard a soft “Thanks, Dean” as she moved slowly down the hall.

What. The. Hell. Something was up with Sammy, and she wouldn't tell him what. He’d tried asking her over the last few days, but she just kept saying everything was fine. Everything was not fine. He had even gone through her bookbag, her duffel, and her dresser drawers the other day while she was in the bathroom taking a shower, feeling like a creep. But how could he protect her if she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong? What could be so bad that she wouldn’t tell him? She had always turned to him for help, told him everything. With how often they picked up and moved, and being hunters, who else could they confide in but each other? Now, though, it felt like a wall had gone up between them, and it kept getting higher and higher. He tried not to feel hurt over it, but it stung, and he couldn't understand what had changed. Maybe it was normal, just part of her growing up, growing away from him. _Maybe you're just not good enough at looking out for her, not strong enough, not smart enough, and she's starting to finally see it, just like Dad did,_ a small, dark voice inside him whispered. The thought of failing her, of her struggling on her own with whatever this was, felt like a stab to his gut. Failing Samantha was not an option. One way or another, he was gonna get to the bottom of this. If something was wrong with his sister, he was gonna find out what, and fix it.

First step, get her talking to him. Whatever it was, they would face it together, and he'd do whatever it took to make it better. Plan in place, he walked down the hall to their room, and poked his head in. No open book on the bed, and no little sister. “Sam? Where ya at” he called out.

“Bathroom!” he heard her call back. Again? He knew she was a girl, but Jesus, she was spending a lot of time in there lately. He knocked on the door. “You ok in there?” Shuffling and water running and finally, the door opened.

“I’m fine” she said, and ducked around him, scooting past him back to their room. Dean followed, anxiety ratcheting higher. His sister was avoiding him, and it was starting to freak him out.

“You’re in the bathroom an awful lot, lately. C’mon, kiddo. Are you okay? Is it your tummy?” he asked. “No, I told you, I’m fine” she answered, as she grabbed a book from the nightstand and hopped onto their bed, wincing. Dean stared at her from the doorway, as she fidgeted, pretending to read her book.

“You know, books are easier to read when they're right-side up, Sammy.” She looked up at him, and then back down at the book, and turned it around.

Another moment of silence, and Dean sighed. “Fine. Keep your secrets. I’m gonna go watch some more tv and then start dinner.” Green eyes, sad, stared into her own, then slid down to gaze at a spot on the floor in front of him. “You know where I am, if you change your mind” he mumbled, and he went down the hall back to the living room, and slumped down in front of the tv. Maybe his little sister didn’t really need him anymore. Maybe she was growing up, and had friends at school she talked to instead. He pictured his sister with some girl, or worse (for some reason that he didn’t want to look at too closely), some _boy_, at her school, spilling her secrets to them, instead of him. He had a sudden urge to go salt the school and burn it to the ground. He stared blankly at the tv as some other Spanish couple were screaming at each other, or about to do it, or both. It was hard to tell most times, and right now it didn't really seem to matter anyway. Completely uninterested, he clicked the tv off. He sat on the couch, feeling low, and wondering what he'd done or hadn't done that had caused Sam turn away from him. After a few minutes, he got up and made his way into the kitchen to see about what to make for dinner. Maybe some mac n cheese, that was simple enough that maybe he wouldn't screw that up, too.

Sammy couldn’t help the tears that spilled down her face after Dean left. She didn't want to keep secrets from him. She hadn't thought about it like that, that not telling him would hurt his feelings. He had looked so sad, and she hated that it was her that had made him feel that way. Maybe she should just go talk to him, tell him everything, and ask for his help. She fidgeted again, and whimpered in pain. Her problem wasn’t getting any better; it was getting worse. She peeked down into her shorts, and burst into tears. That’s it, she thought. She had tried to be strong, tried not to burden him with one more thing he had to do for her when he already did so much, but now she was just plain scared. She needed Dean, and she needed him now.

Dean was rummaging around in the kitchen, worried about Sam and racking his brains about what to do. He pondered between macaroni and cheese or frozen pizza for dinner. Maybe he’d bring Sammy one of those peaches. Fruit always made her happy, the brilliant little health-conscious weirdo.

“Dean?” He turned and saw his Sammy in the doorway, tears spilling down her face, pale and shaking. He dropped everything in his hands onto the counter and rushed over to her, knelt down in front of her and pulled her into his arms. “God, kiddo, what’s wrong?” He pulled back and held onto her shoulders, looked at her, tears prickling at his eyes at the sight of her looking so upset. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’re killing me here. Just tell me, okay? Whatever it is, I promise you, we’ll fix it.”

Sam sniffled, and just took his hand and led him back to their room. She sat down on the side of the bed, and pulled him down to sit next to her. He put his arm around her, and pulled her against him. “Sammy, what is it? Is someone bothering you at school?” He would gladly destroy anyone who dared hurt his sister, and as a hunter, he knew he was more than capable. She just shook her head, though. Ok, so it wasn't a bully. What, then?

He put a hand on her forehead, but she didn’t feel warm. “Are you sick? Does something hurt?” At that, Sammy burst into tears. A cold ribbon of fear laced through Dean’s guts. “You’re hurt, baby? Where? Tell me” as he started lightly touching her arms, tummy, legs.

“Dean, I’m…I think I’m dying” Sammy blurted out and threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “I know Dad said no doctors but I don’t wanna die, Dean. I don’t wanna leave you ‘lone and go away. It hurts.”

Dean swung off the bed and knelt down in front of her, hands on her shoulders, his panic rising. “Sam? Sammy, I need you to calm down. Calm down, baby, and tell me where it hurts. Deep breath, that’s it. Another one. Ok, better. You’re not dying, Sam. Not on my watch." Just the thought of such a thing was starting to make him feel crazy. A world without his Sammy in it - the very idea of it was just so wrong. What he would be willing to do to prevent such a thing from happening, the things he would be capable of...it just didn't bear thinking on.

"You trust me, right?” Sam nodded, calmer now. “Alright, then. Talk to me, tell me what's going on with you, okay? We'll get you fixed up, right as rain, in no time.” He was rubbing her shoulders to keep her calm, and mentally mapping out routes to the nearest hospital, when Sammy whispered “It hurts here” and pointed at her lap.

Dean rocked back on his heels, stunned. “What” he choked out.

“It hurts here, Dean. It’s achy and I tried to rub it like when you pull a muscle but it wouldn’t go away and it’s sore, and, and, it’s leaking, and it won’t go away” she burst out, getting wound up again.

“What” Dean blurted out again. Sam started crying harder, and Dean kicked himself. _Get it together, you're freaking her out._ He brought her in to his arms and hugged her to him, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “Ok, you’re gonna be alright little sis, it’s ok, you're ok,” Dean reassured her.

It was not alright, and it was definitely not okay. He was not prepared for this. As much as he knew about girls, and he had learned a fair bit over the last year or two, he was no gynecologist, or any other kind of doctor. But he was a hunter, and a Winchester, and with that thought, his training kicked in and took over. He pulled back from her, circled a hand lightly around her wrist, reached up with his other hand, tilted her face towards him. Her pulse was a little fast, but understandable with how upset she was. She was a little pale but not sweaty, and her pupils seemed even and the right size. Her breathing was clear, and there were no obvious external injuries, and she was able to walk. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but he thought she was moving around easily enough to rule out any serious internal injuries. Feeling a little calmer, he thought over what she had said, and understanding slowly began to dawn.

To his dull horror, something warm shifted low in his gut at this new knowledge, and like many a Winchester before him, when faced with an uncomfortable thought, he stomped it down and locked it away. “Sam, honey? Where, um, exactly does it hurt?” he asked, gently.

“I’ll show you” she sniffled, standing up. She pulled off her shorts and underwear, and sat back down on the edge of the bed, lifting her t-shirt, and spreading her legs. Dean had taken baths with her when they were both still little, and then given her baths when she got older until she could shower on her own, and helped her get dressed when she was little, and they lived in close quarters their whole lives; there was no part of themselves that the other hadn’t seen before at some point. Dean didn’t seem to have any sense of shame about it, so neither did Sam. So she didn’t understand why Dean’s eyes got kind of big, and his face turned red. Unless, maybe he was just upset because there really was something terribly wrong with her?

Suddenly, Dean started to second-guess his lack of shame, because he was definitely looking at parts of his sister that he thought he should feel ashamed to be looking at. Especially when the two of them were alone in their bedroom, his sister spread out on the bed in front of him, butt naked from the waist down. Funny thing was, he didn't feel much ashamed at all. He was more ashamed of not feeling ashamed. But then again, he was just helping his sister, like he always did. It’s just another part of her body, and if something was wrong, he needed to know. Feeling more resolved, he tried to make both of them feel as comfortable with this as possible.

“Here, lie back so I can see better” he urged her. He figured it would be easier on both of them if she wasn’t looking straight down at him the whole time. Unfortunately, her lying back with her legs spread out around either side of him reminded him of something he'd seen in last month's issue of Busty Asian Beauties, and that actually made it harder. Literally. He looked down in dismay at his dick chubbing up in his pants, and hey, look at that, turned out he did have at least a little sense of shame in him after all. At least she couldn’t see his face, which felt blazing hot and was probably as red as a tomato. _God, stop perving out on your sister and help her, you jerk. _He glared down at his traitorous dick. _You too, asshole, lock it down. _Taking a deep breath _(oh god I can smell her she smells like girl she smells amazing)_, he looked back down at his sister’s bare, smooth pussy (_s__top thinking that stop calling it that it’s just her girl parts just baby sister girl parts oh fuck just stop thinking)_. Her poor _(girl parts, just girl parts, stop thinking about it) _really did look sore and red.

Now that she had finally told Dean what was wrong, and he was helping her, Sammy felt a lot calmer. She put her heels on the edge of the bed, and moved her hands down and spread herself wider, so that Dean could see everything clearly. She heard him gasp, and she teared up again. It must be worse than she thought. “Do you see it? It’s all sore. It felt funny, the top part, and I rubbed it and rubbed it, like when you do when you get a sore muscle, that’s why I was in the bathroom so much. But it never got better, and now it looks all swollen and it hurts real bad. And I think it’s infected, cause when I take off my panties, they're all wet like it leaked all over." Dean was still silent. "Dean, is it bad? Am I dying?”

Dean’s throat felt as dry as sandpaper, but he finally choked out “No baby girl, you’re not dying. Promise. You’re just growing up, that’s all. This is normal. A little earlier than I thought it would be, but normal. God, all the times I wished mom was still around, I've never wanted her here more than right now. She could have explained these things to you, before you needed to know them. I’m sorry you’re stuck with just me, your idiot big brother instead, and I screwed it all up, but it’s gonna be ok, I promise.”

Sammy looked up at him with fear in her eyes. “It’s…normal? Is that...does that mean...it's _always_ gonna hurt like this?” she asked, voice warbling.

“Oh god no, honey. No, it’s not supposed to hurt, it just, you’re just, you’re kind of new at this, and sometimes people don’t, it just, um, it can take a while sometimes to figure out how to, um, take care of this sort of thing. Crap, this is my fault. I knew we were gonna eventually have to have “The Talk”, but I just didn’t think it would be this soon. I’ll explain everything, just gimme a minute to figure out where to start.”

Sammy was so relieved that she couldn’t stop crying. Dean leaned up over her. “Aw, please stop crying, Sammy. You’re gonna be ok, I swear.”

“I was so scared, De, and you already do everything for me, and I didn’t want to worry you, and I thought, I thought, and then…” she sobbed. Dean pulled her up into his arms. “It’s ok, sweetheart, you’re ok. And you don’t ever have to face things on your own. You can tell me anything, that’s what I’m here for, that’s my job, right? To look after my baby sister. To help you, and take care of you. Shhh, it’s ok. You just didn’t know what to do, and you made it sore, like a boo-boo, but just like a boo-boo, it’ll get better, I promise.”

“Kiss it and make it better?”

In his mind, Dean actually heard a sound like a needle jumping a record. He froze, realizing that he was leaning over his half-naked sister on their bed, their arms around each other. He untangled himself, and prayed to whatever deity was out there that the sudden tightening of his pants was just a coincidence. He was 15, he got stiff in a strong breeze, so it was definitely a coincidence, and he definitely was not thinking about kissing this particular boo-boo and making it alright, no matter what Steven Tyler had sung. He floundered for a minute, and then inspiration struck, and he leaned down and pressed a soft and gentle kiss to his sister’s cheek. “There. Better?”

“No, not there, De. Down there, where it hurts. Kiss and make it better” Sammy asked him, completely unaware of how suddenly dizzy with blood loss he was as every drop in his body rushed towards his suddenly rock-hard cock. 

“Um, Sam, that’s uh, not where brothers are supposed to kiss their sisters.” He was hard enough to hammer nails, and terrified Sammy would notice. Poor kid had been traumatized enough today. He pulled away from her, intent on being anywhere else besides this room, which was feeling awful warm all of a sudden. His sister responded by throwing her harms around his neck and clinging to him like a spider monkey, and bursting into fresh tears.

“Please De, it hurts! Please…” she sniffled, chest hitching. “S'posed to help me, take care of me, you just said…please?” Puppy dog eyes shone at him, and fat tears rolled down baby sister cheeks.

Something in that broken plea snapped something delicate and fragile deep inside Dean. His prime directive was to take care of Sammy. Sammy needed him. He’d take care of Sammy, help Sammy, then she and he would have a long talk, with books and clinical diagrams and charts and tables like she liked, that would help explain everything, and then she’d know what was happening with her body, and what to expect, and what to do, and how to handle this on her own the way it should be. But right now? Right now his Sammy was hurting, and needed him.

One kiss. That’s it. Years from now it would be a funny story that he hoped to god neither of them ever told anyone else.

“Ok, Sammy. I’ll kiss it and make it better, then we’ll talk it all over. Ok?”

Sammy nodded, bottom lip caught in her teeth, tear-stained cheeks still pale. “Ok, De. Thank you. You’re the best brother ever.”

_I am the worst brother ever. Ok, here goes. One kiss, right at the top, no funny business, do not pass go, do not collect $200. _He moved down over his sister, inching slowly towards her center. He moved her hands away from her poor, sore pussy _(girl parts, just girl parts)_, letting her outer lips settle back into place. He leaned in, and closed his eyes (in hind sight, a mistake), licked his suddenly dry lips, ghosted a warm breath out over her, and kissed his sister’s mound. The legendary Winchester aim inexplicably failed him as he landed a smidge lower than he meant to, his wet bottom lip rubbing Sammy’s sore, red clit, and she gasped and cried out, spasming and shaking. Dean fell back on his ass in shock. _I passed go, I passed go, oh shit I passed go_ shrieking through his mind like a Klaxon alarm. Then he looked up at Sam, and his eyes and mouth rounded in surprise.

“Was that…baby girl, did you just…holy crap” he whispered, in equal parts awe and terror. His sister’s knees had fallen wide to either side of her, and he leaned back in and stared in fascination at her wide-open pussy in front of him, dark pink and pulsing, juice from her entrance slicking down to her tiny rosebud spasming below it. From just one meant-to-be-chaste kiss. He just made his baby sister come. Apparently for the first time ever. With one kiss. Sammy’s first time coming was from his mouth on her. Dean had just given his little sister Sammy her first orgasm. With just one touch of his lips on her, just barely brushing her sweet little clit. He felt a little sick, and kind of wanted to beat his chest and shout it from the rooftops, all at the same time. 

"You okay?” Sammy was silent, staring at the ceiling, panting, mouth open a little. “Sam? Samantha, answer me. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry…oh god…” Panic swelled in him. He’d scarred his sister for life. He was the worst of the worst. This was all his fault. He was a filthy dirty pedo kid-toucher. No, it was worse than that. He was an incestuous filthy dirty pedo kid-toucher who had just violated his baby sister. He might as well go out and buy a white panel van and stock up on candy.

Oblivious to Dean’s angst, or to anything else for that matter, Sam lay back, feeling so good. She should have trusted that Dean would know just what to do. He was a hero, her hero, and she could never love anyone in the whole wide world more than she loved her brother. She felt so amazing right now, like nothing could ever be wrong again. She ran her fingers through Dean’s soft, blond hair. His face was pressed against her thigh, and she felt like so warm and happy, like pure sunlight could come bursting out of her any second. “De? Why are you sorry? It feels so much better now. Can you do that again? It really helped. Please? Kiss it again?”

He was absolutely, definitely, in no way going to kiss it again. Once was an unintentional, honest mistake. No way to excuse a second time as anything but deliberately going down on his own little sister to try to make her come. That was beyond the pale, even for their unconventional life. She might not know better, but he definitely did. No matter how curious he was to see if he could make her come again that easily, or how many times he might be able to do it in a row, he was definitely not going to.

Sammy leaned back and stretched her arms out above her head, finally relaxing after all that distress. She looked like she felt better now. Dean had helped her, had taken care of her.

Dean's need to protect her and his need to give her everything she needed warred in his mind. She looked down at him, stained-glass eyes staring at him with love and trust. "Please, De?"

At that, something in Dean’s brain short-circuited and he was just gone. “You sure, baby girl? You want me to kiss it and make it better again?” he purred, his voice sounding a whole register lower.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Okay, sweetheart. But if you want me to stop, just say so, and I will. Alright? If it hurts, something doesn’t feel right, or you just don’t want to, you don’t even need a reason. No matter what I’m doing, say stop and I’ll stop, right away. Okay?”

Sammy nodded. Dean licked his lips again, tasting baby sister on them. He ground the heel of hand against the base of his impossibly harder dick, and leaned back in over his sister’s sweetly fragrant warmth, and, licking his lips again, placed a gentle, wet kiss directly over her swollen, red nub. He mouthed over it with just his lips once, twice, and then Sammy cried out again and curled in on herself.

“Oh sweetheart, that’s it. There you go, all better” he soothed, running his hands up and down her legs and hips. He kissed her hipbones, the top of her mound, the inside of her thighs.

“My good girl. Such a good girl for me. Love taking care of you, make you feel better, take care of you forever” he murmured, kissing her outer lips, a light kiss on her entrance, slicking his lips with her juices. Gentle kisses higher and higher, smoothing her shaking thighs, pulling her ankles onto his shoulders and crossing her feet around the back of his neck. “So sweet and juicy. Look just like those peaches I bought you…soft, and juicy, and sweet like a peach, too. My sweet peach, love my sweet little peach baby” he cooed at her.

“Feels so good” Sammy slurred, kaleidoscope eyes glazed, hair sweaty and mussed. “So good. Knew you’d make it better. Take care of me, always take care of me. Love you, De. Kiss me again, just, keep kissing me” she mewled. She always loved Dean’s kisses, but these felt even more amazing, made her feel like grabbing onto him, and never letting go.

“Always take care of you, honey. Love you, baby girl, forever” he moaned as he kissed his way up her thighs to her dripping entrance. He dipped just the tip of his tongue inside her slippery warmth as he slicked his lips again with her juices. Sammy’s hips bucked up towards him at this new sensation, pushing his tongue further into her tight virgin hole, and rubbing her nub against his teeth and top lip, again and again, until she gasped and shook as she came again. Dean groaned and without a hand on himself, came so hard that he saw stars. He pulsed hot cream into his jeans, hanging onto his sister’s hips with his face buried in her sweetness as they both rode shock waves of pleasure together.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re gonna be the death of me” he choked out with a short, hoarse laugh. “God, you taste so good. So soft and sweet. Wanna kiss you forever, honey. Just you and me, nobody else” he babbled, stroking her. “Can I kiss you again, sweet girl? Hmm? Let me, Sammy?”

“Mmm-hmm” she moaned. “Yeah De, kiss me, doesn’t hurt anymore, feels good…”

Dean stroked her shaking thighs, her calves, her ankles crossed behind his head. Then he moved his left hand under her leg and up around to her pussy, and spread her dark-pink glistening lips wide. “Ok Sammy, here we go, I got ya, gonna make you feel good sweetheart” he breathed over her. “God, so sweet, my sweet little peach baby, gonna eat you right up” and licked a long gentle flat swipe of his tongue from her wet hole, up her center, through her lips and over her clit. He did it again, and again, and then hovered over her clit and kitten-licked it slowly and gently with just the tip of his tongue. Dean rubbed a hand over his jeans and was shocked to find himself hard again. He ripped the top of his jeans open and shoved his right hand down into his boxers. Still creamy slick with his own come, he fucked his cock into his tight grasp as he hunched over his little sister, softly licking her into a frenzy. Sammy was moaning and writhing as Dean moved his left hand back under her leg and up her inner thigh. He slid the tip of his pointer finger one knuckle deep in and out of her slick, tight warmth. He closed his plush soft lips over her swollen nub and sucked once, twice…Sam clenched and groaned as she came again, her ankles pulling Dean in hard against her, slicking her juices all over his face, soft wet center pulsing around the fingertip of his left hand as he pumped his cock with his right. Her hands grabbing his short hair tight, Sam moaned his name as she rocked through her orgasm, and Dean creamed his jeans a second time with his mouth full of sweet, throbbing baby sister.

Dean lapped at his sister gently as she lay back on the bed, completely limp. He licked all the juicy slick he could find from her thighs, her hole, even one soft swipe over her perfect little furled rosebud, making her giggle. Since his first mouthful, he had always loved the taste of girl, but his little baby peach tasted better than all of the other girls put together. He lowered Sam's legs to the floor, and licked his lips, savoring the lingering taste of Sam. He pulled his tshirt off, wiped off his hands and face as best he could, and tossed it in the corner. He rained soft kisses up Sam's thighs, then, standing, picked her up and slid her up onto the bed so her head was laying on her pillow. She looked so peaceful and sweet. He smoothed her hair back, and leaned down to kiss her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheeks. 

“Rest a few minutes, baby, I’ll be right back.” He pulled the covers over her and she snuggled in like a burrito. He placed a kiss against her temple, and left her dozing. He grabbed a tshirt and boxers from the dresser, then went into the bathroom, stripped out of his come-soaked boxers and jeans, and quickly showered the rest off of him before he wound up with his pubes glued to himself. Some life lessons were a bitch. He toweled off, put on the clean shirt and boxers, and made his way down the hall to the kitchen, stopping briefly to peek in on Sam, who was still resting easy.

Sam wasn’t sleeping, but she wasn’t all the way awake, either. She felt limp, like cooked spaghetti. And good, she felt really, really good. Best of all, she didn’t hurt anymore. She wished Dean was still next to her, but she was too tired to call out to him. She decided to rest a little more, and if he didn’t come back soon, she’d go look for him.

The next thing she knew, she was wrapped in warmth, Dean spooned against her, his arms around her, snoring lightly against the back of her neck. She felt safe, and warm, and loved. She also had to pee. She stirred and tried to get out of the bed, but Dean just wrapped his arms around her tighter. “Dean. Lemme up, I gotta go pee.”

“Hmph? Mm, ok. But then get back here. We got more napping to do.” She giggled, but then staggered back against the bed when she tried to stand up, her legs unsteady.

Dean shot up and reached out to steady her. “Woah, steady there. You ok? You know what, never mind. Arms around my neck, c’mon.” He got out of bed and picked her up in his arms, bridal carry style, her giggling the whole way, and he carried her into the bathroom, and set her on the toilet. “Ok, do your thing and lemme know when you’re done, I’ll be right outside the door. Don’t want you banging into any walls on the way back.”

“Wait, Dean. Stay?” They had both peed next to each other on the sides of roads throughout the years. And when she had to go, she had to go, no matter who was in the shower or brushing their teeth. So even though it wasn’t the norm, it wasn’t that big a deal to either one of them to pee in front of the other. Still, there had to be a reason she was asking, and Dean was done letting things go unsaid. “What’s up, short stack?” Sam squinted at the nickname, but then admitted, “I’m just a little nervous. What if it starts to hurt when I pee? Can you just stay?”

“It shouldn’t hurt, but yeah, I’ll stay. You want me to go stand behind the shower curtain, or just look at the wall, or what?” Dean wasn’t sure what the protocol for this should be, but his girl had been through enough today, so if she needed him to stay here, he’d do it, however she wanted. “Just stay where you are but close your eyes, like we do on the side of the road.”

“Alright, eyes shut. Go for it.” She shifted around a little and breathed a sigh of relief when it didn’t hurt. “You ok, Sam? It hurt at all?”

“No, it’s ok. A tiny bit sore when I wipe, but it doesn’t hurt really. You were right, it’s a lot better already.” She was so relieved. And she felt sort of silly, thinking she was dying, when she had just given herself a boo-boo. She washed her hands, and dried them, then Dean surprised her by picking her up again to carry her back down the hall to their room.

“I can walk, Dean.”

“Yeah, but I want to hold you.” He actually never wanted to let her go again, to be honest. Just hold her against him all the time and protect her from everything.

“C’mon, back into bed with you. Here, sit up for a second.” He handed her the glass of water from the night stand that he had carried in earlier while she was dozing. She drank about a quarter of it, then handed it back to him. He drank a little himself, then set it back down, and picked up the small plate of peach slices that was next to it. “Peaches for my peach baby?” Sam smiled and opened wide, letting Dean feed her like he liked to, and her feeding him a few slices as well.

“Ok that’ll hold us over for a little bit. Scoot over.” He slid under the covers with her and lay on his side behind her, arms around her and the two of them curled up like two little shrimps. He gave her the basic rundown of the birds and the bees, and stroked her hair and her arm while she listened.

“So that’s what married people do to have babies?”

“Well, yeah. But you don’t have to be married. Most people will say you should love the other person, but it’s not like a law or anything. I guess it’s better if you do, though. You shouldn’t let anyone touch you that doesn’t love and respect you, not ever.”

Sam thought this over. “Do you love and respect all the girls you kiss? Cause you kiss an awful lot of girls, Dean.”

Dean was quiet for a minute, thinking. “No, I guess not. I liked them, some of them more than others, and I tried to always be good to them, respectful. But we never stick around anywhere long enough to really fall in love with anyone, you know?”

“But you love me, right, De?” She stared at the wall, thinking.

“Of course, Sam. You know I do, forever.” Dean hugged her tighter, thinking that to keep her safe and happy, he’d give his own life if he had to, and think the price cheap.

“I wanna get married someday.” Dean’s heart fell a little.

“Well, of course you do, sweetheart.” He thought about the boys and girls in Sam’s school, and all the schools she would go to until she graduated, and visions of gasoline, salt, and matches again danced through his head. “Did you have anyone in particular in mind?” he asked, jokingly.

“Duh. I want to marry you” she replied, turning in his arms so she could tuck her head under his shoulder. 

“Oh Sam. Honey, no. Brothers and sisters can’t get married. It’s against the law. In fact…” He hated to say it, but he had to. “I shouldn’t have helped you the way I did earlier. Brothers aren’t supposed to touch sisters like that. You can’t tell anyone, Sam, not ever. Dad would send me away, hell, he would probably just kill me. _He’d think I was a monster. Hell, maybe I am one._ I should have said no, and just explained all this and talked you through what to do. But you were so upset, Sam, and hurting. I just wanted to help, and well, I went a little overboard.” Dean laid quietly beside her while Sam tried to understand everything that he was saying to her. “Sam, now that I explained everything to you, do you…do you hate me now? Are you mad? I’ll go away if you want me to. I’ll leave you alone.”

“What do you mean, go away? Like Dad goes away? No!” Sam couldn’t understand what Dean was saying. None of it made any sense. “I’m not mad, Dean, I was scared, and it hurt, and you made it better. It doesn’t hurt anymore. And I don’t care what other brothers and sisters do, you and Dad always say we’re not like other families. And we break laws all the time, and, and, we’re never gonna stick around long enough anywhere to love anyone else, and I don’t want to anyway! Nobody could be b-better than you, ever! I d-don’t want anybody else!” she stuttered out, tears rolling down her cheeks.

Dean pulled her back into his arms, held her close. “Shh, honey, shh. I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere, not if you don’t want me to, not leaving you. I’m sorry, don’t cry, please stop crying. Love you baby girl, shh”, he cooed, holding her tight and slowly running his hand over her back until the tears stopped. “Get some sleep, baby. It’s been a long day, huh? I’ll be here when you wake up. I’m not going anywhere. And listen, you may change your mind someday about me, and that’s ok. Whatever you need, as long as you’re happy and safe, that’s all that matters. Remember that, Sammy, ok? We’ll figure out the rest as we go.”

“You and me against the world, Sammy. Just you and me.”


	2. A Rose on the Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sammy's first kiss. 
> 
> Slow, slow burn, lots of angst, and lots of comfort and fluff. A bit darker with the angst than the first chapter, but hopefully worth it in the end. I'm intending for future chapters to be lighter and fluffier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, like Chuck once said, "Writing is hard!" You ain't kiddin', bub. 
> 
> I'm not the fastest writer to begin with, but this chapter was a bear. There were many, many rewrites and editing, on top of a working a 50-60 hour a week "essential workers" type job. 
> 
> There will be more chapters, as there are many other firsts to explore. Future chapters should be a bit less angsty, and thus a little easier for me to write (I hate making my babies suffer, but the story must be served). I can't promise when new chapters will arrive. If you've enjoyed so far, and want to read more, I would humbly suggest you consider subscribing. You'll get notified when new chapters arrive, and can read them or ignore them until the whole thing is finished. 
> 
> No beta - all mistakes are my own.
> 
> I don't own any of these characters, I just have daydreams about them, and wind up writing them down. Please don't repost this chapter or story to any other site.

_I've been kissed by a rose on the gray_  
_And if I should fall, will it all go away?_

_Kiss from a Rose - Seal_

Dried leaves skittered lightly down the sidewalk outside the motel, pulling Dean out of sleep. Like every morning since he was four years old and woke to his mother burning on the ceiling and his father shoving baby Samantha in his arms and telling him to run, he instinctively reached out for Sammy to make sure she was there, safe and warm. Like every other morning for the past few months, his eyes blinked open, wide in brief panic at finding the other side of the bed cold and empty before memory slammed into him.

Heart aching, he let out a tired sigh as he slowly drew his hand back to his chest. He turned and saw Sam, her back to him, curled up tight under her blanket on the other bed. He shut off the alarm before it could wake her, and let his gaze linger on her for a long moment, taking comfort in her slow and steady breaths. He treasured these few minutes with her each morning before she woke.

Every other minute of each day, he did everything he knew how, every waking moment, to keep his guard up, toe the line, and be the brother he was supposed to be for her, the brother she deserved. He took care of her and watched out for her like always, but now he watched over himself, too. Looks, and especially touches, were rationed to the absolute bare minimum. Looking his fill of her for the few minutes before she woke every morning was the one indulgence, the one weakness, that he still allowed himself. Only the knowledge that she would never know about it, and so it could never hurt her, eased his guilty conscience a little. 

Such a strange role-reversal for him to keep waking up first; of the two of them, Sammy had always been the morning person, not him. But these days he just didn’t sleep as well as he used to. It took him forever to drop off, no matter how exhausted he was. He slept in fits and starts, woke at the slightest sound, and was always up before the alarm. Without his baby sister sleeping next to him, safe and sound within arm’s reach, his mind and body never stood down enough for the deep, restful sleep that his body needed so badly. But after what he would only refer to in his own mind as “The Incident” a few months ago back in Iowa, it was for the best that they slept in their own beds.

It was just one of many changes since then. Each one stung – it was like death by a thousand paper cuts. But he would knuckle up, would eventually get used to it. He had to, for Sammy’s sake. Whenever he felt his resolve weaken, he would make himself remember that last morning that he had woken with his Sammy sleeping sweetly beside him, and the cold chill that had run through him as the full realization of what he had done to her had struck him. 

∞

_Western Iowa, 3 months earlier_

Dean had woke to the bright summer sun beaming through the thin curtains of their room. He gave a soft smile at the sight of his Sammy, his baby girl, tucked in tight against him, adorable faint purr of a snore coming from her slightly open mouth. He reached out to swipe his thumb across the bow of her plush bottom lip, and froze as the memories of the day before flooded over him.

_Oh god, what have I done?_

Waves of shame and arousal washed over him at the images that rolled through his mind from the previous day. He’d only meant to help her, to stop the hurt, and it had all gone horribly out of control. He was her big brother, her protector. He was supposed to watch out for her, not take advantage of her, not corrupt her. She was so young, so innocent; she had barely understood what was happening. But him? He was 15 years old, for fuck sake. He wasn’t a kid, hell, he had never really been a kid, and he had no excuse. It hadn’t felt wrong at the time. It had felt so good, so right. But the morning sun had cast it all in a harsh new light, and he realized fully just how badly he had failed her.

He saw their whole lives in this new light now. Every hug, every kiss – the way he still held her hand when they walked down streets – how they cuddled together on the couch watching tv - how they slept wrapped up around each other every night…before yesterday, they had only been simple acts of affection between a close-knit brother and sister who didn’t have anyone for themselves but each other. He’d always known that Samantha was the smarter of the two of them, but he couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid as to not see what it could lead to, what had been simmering under the surface this whole time. 

They had only ever really had each other. Their dad tried, but most of the time he was either off on a hunt, or consumed with training, research, and planning for the next hunt, all the while running down leads on the monster that killed his beloved Mary. Left mostly to themselves, living like nomads, they were endlessly the new kids, outsiders with thrift-store clothes on their backs, and knives in their boots. By the time the “new” started wearing off of them, they’d pull up stakes for the next town, the next hunt, and the cycle would start all over again. They lived among an ever-revolving cast of civilians who were either blissfully ignorant of the things that went bump in the night, were terrorized or killed by the things that went bump in the night, or occasionally turned out to _be_ one of the things that went bump in the night. Why bother trying to connect with people who could never understand them, and who they’d only leave behind every few months? Besides, it wasn’t like they were just regular folks, anyway. They were hunters-in-training, raised by an ex-marine who was blazing an unrelenting path of grim vengeance against the supernatural throughout the lower 48. The number of people that Sam or Dean ever fully trusted outside of their 3-person platoon could be counted on the fingers of one hand. John Winchester, who avoided not only most civilians, but also the vast majority of other hunters (the feeling was fairly mutual), not only approved of his children keeping everyone else at arm’s length, he supported and encouraged it. After what he had seen, what his family had been through, it was just good common sense to not trust anyone except each other. 

Their father may have raised his children to keep only to themselves, but Dean knew their dad had damn well never meant for anything like this to happen. Jesus H. tap-dancing Christ, if Dad ever found out…Dean figured he’d probably be beaten, shot, salted, burned, and his ashes left to rot in a shallow unmarked grave, and his dad the one to do it. Little Sammy would either be stashed somewhere like Pastor Jim’s, or Bobby’s, or more likely, pulled out of school permanently and dragged all over the country glued to their Dad’s side, even taking her with him on hunts, danger surrounding her every minute. Dean knew he deserved everything he had coming to him, and more. But Sam didn’t deserve anything like that. She deserved to be safe, and protected, and given as much of the normal life that she craved as he could give her. 

He had to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again. He would do whatever it took to make sure of it. Even if that also meant strangling his own heart by inches every day.

Filled with remorse, he eased out of the bed slowly, and choked down a groan when Sam turned in her sleep towards him, a small frown on her face. He grabbed some clothes for the day and hurried into the bathroom. He got the shower running as hot as he could stand it, then set it just a little hotter. He deserved the pain, deserved to suffer. He glanced at the mirror, and quickly away again, unable to look himself in the eye. Head bowed into the stream of steaming water, feeling the burn like penance, Dean vowed to do better, to be better, to set them both back on track to how things were supposed to be.

Even if Sam had some kind of hero-worship thing going, she’d grow out of it eventually. And when she did, she’d realize what he had let happen…no, what he had done to her. One slip-up might be forgiven, but if he didn’t nip this thing in the bud right now, Sammy might hate him, forever.

Dean would rather die. 

Instead, he’d do what he could to make it up to her, and never let it happen again. It was a mistake, and he wouldn’t repeat it. He would be a better brother to her, and set them straight, end of story. Resolve strengthened, he finished his shower, got dressed, and made a plan. No more cuddling on the couch. No holding hands when they were walking down the street, or to and from school. No kisses, no hugs, no foot rubs while watching tv, no running his fingers through that mop of hair of hers, in fact, no touching at all unless it was absolutely necessary. No off-color jokes or teasing. Not a word about his hookups, scratch that, not a word about any hookups, or dating, or crushes, or anything to do with the opposite sex. No watching anything on tv with anything like that in it. No more Busty Asian Beauties or Playboy hidden in his duffel. No touching himself, not even to adjust himself, if she was anywhere around.

Absolutely no jerking off, except silently, behind a locked bathroom door, in the shower where he drown out the sound, and carefully wash away the evidence. No changing in front of each other. No walking around shirtless, or in his boxers. No sleeping in just their underwear, no matter how hot it was, or how broken the AC. No more sleeping in the same bed. Every point of the plan was another spike in his heart, but it had to be done. 

He had been standing at the kitchen sink, staring out the window as he went over his plan, when Sam came in and made her usual beeline for him. “Morning,” she mumbled into his back as she hugged him from behind. Instead of turning and hugging her back, he twisted away towards the fridge and mussed her hair instead. She looked at him muzzily, then shrugged and turned away. She loved her brother, but he sure was weird sometimes. Maybe it was a boy thing. She didn’t know any other boys well enough to know for sure.

“PT in five, get your butt in gear,” he called out after her.

“Aw c’mon, Dean, it’s like a gazillion degrees out there…can’t we skip it? Dad will never know,” she whined back.

Dean cringed. There were a lot of things Dad could never know. “A gazillion? Is that even a real number, brainiac? Never mind, don’t tell me.” He chuckled nervously. “C’mon, the longer you drag your feet, the hotter it’s gonna get.” Grabbing an empty half-gallon plastic milk container from the counter, he filled it with cool water from the sink, screwed on the cap, and stuck in his backpack. Running was thirsty work, especially in that kind of heat. “Can’t kick monster’s asses if you get winded two seconds into the chase, kiddo. Let’s go, chop chop!”

Three sweaty miles later, they were back in their rented house. “Dibs on first shower!” Sam called. He grabbed some of her clothes off of the top of the clean laundry pile and shoved them into her arms just as she reached the bathroom door – a preemptive strike to prevent her walking around afterwards in just a towel, all damp from the shower, beads of water rolling down her. He buried those thoughts as she gave him a blank look. “Thanks?” she said, looking up at him.

Dean scrambled, pulling a line out of thin air. “Just trying to save you time, short-stack – I know you can’t wait to get to the next chapter of War and Peace or whatever the hell doorstop of a book you’re reading this week.” He turned away towards the kitchen, rolling his eyes at himself. He was really going to have to work on coming up with better than that if this plan was going to work. Sam might be a kid, but she wasn’t an idiot. 

While Sam was in the shower, he started breakfast. He popped some bread in the craggy old toaster, and grabbed a canned fruit cup out of the cupboard, wondering if she was ever going to grow out of this fruits and veggies health kick. He opened the fridge to see what other fresh fruit they had left that he could doctor it up with. His eyes landed on the remaining lone peach, perfectly ripe and juicy, sitting innocently in the bowl of apples and oranges. He groaned, his cock pulsing and thickening, as the highlight reel of the previous day unspooled in his mind. _His sweet little peach baby…Christ, she had tasted so damn good…_

His groan stopped him short as his hand was creeping south to his waistband. He snatched his hand back, and slapped himself in the face instead. _This is NOT in the plan, snap the fuck out of it. _He glared at the tent in his shorts, willing it to go down. He grabbed a paper towel, wrapped up the peach in it carefully, not daring to even touch its skin, and buried the whole thing a few layers deep in the trash can. 

After a mostly silent breakfast, it was too hot to do anything outside. He clicked on the tv, but then grabbed some clothes to change into, and went into the bathroom to shower, being careful to lock the door. He argued with himself about whether or not to jerk off. On the one hand, cleaning the pipes might help keep unwanted thoughts and jean-tenting away for the rest of the day. On the other hand, he felt dirty even thinking about it. He wound up stroking himself to a quiet and joyless release, thinking about absolutely nothing, then blasted the water freezing cold until he was shivering and miserable. 

He dressed, and went into the living room. Sam was on one side of the couch, and he claimed the other corner, keeping as far from her as he could. She started to shimmy closer. He kept his glued to the tv as he told her “Stay on your side, Sam. It’s too hot for me to be a pillow for you.” She stilled, and after a moment, moved back over to her side.

“If it’s so hot, why don’t you take your shirt off?” she asked.

Dean shot off the couch, grabbed the weapons duffel, and headed towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna go clean the guns.” She could faintly hear him humming “Enter Sandman” as he worked.

“Do you need help?” she called out.

“No, Sam. Just…keep watching tv, or go read, or something.” The rest of the day was the same thing, over and over; every time Sam moved closer, or even looked at him for too long, he moved away, or got up to do something else. It felt so weird to Dean, so unnatural, but it had to be done. _Stick to the plan. _

Sam wasn’t sure what was up, but Dean had been acting weird all day. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t come near her, wouldn’t let her come near him. Had she done something wrong? Maybe something yesterday? She had thought everything that had happened was the most amazing thing ever. It was like all the love in her heart for him had burst out of her, warm and sparkling. She hadn’t known anything like that even existed, and she felt all tingly now whenever she thought about it. But maybe it hadn’t been like that for Dean. He _had_ tried to tell her that brothers and sisters weren’t supposed to be like that with each other, but then she had pitched a fit, like a little baby, until he gave in. Dean was always doing things like that. He gave up so many things for himself, just to look out for her and take care of her. And she had acted like a selfish jerk, only caring about what she wanted. He’d made all the pain and fear go away, swooped in and saved her, just like the hero she knew he was. He made her feel so good, so warm and happy and loved, and she wanted that with him forever. But maybe Dean didn’t want that.

Or maybe he just didn’t want it with her. With each new town, she noticed more and more how different she was from most other girls. With everything else going on in their lives, she’d never preened much over her hair, or clothes. Heck, most of the time she was in Dean’s old hand-me-downs. They were secretly always her favorites – like she was carrying a part of him with her, wrapped around her like armor.

She went to their room, and stood in front of the full-length mirror nailed to the back of the door. It had never occurred to her before now that she should look any different than she did. But now, as she stared in the mirror, her heart sank as she really looked at herself. For the first time, she saw herself how others might see her. Scrawny, stick-thin arms and legs. Knobby knees. Mousy brown hair that hung flat, boring plain all-one-length cut that Dean always gave her, joking that it was either that, or the military-short buzz he gave himself. Moles everywhere, even on her face. Eyes a bunch of mixed up colors, like they couldn’t just pick one and stick to it. _Ugly. _She had never thought that about herself before, but the proof was right there staring her in the face. Mirrors didn’t lie.

_I’m a skinny, ugly freak in scruffy second-hand clothes._

No wonder Dean had tried to push her away. Dean, so tall, and strong, and brave. Dean, with his clear green eyes, and perfect mole-free face, and soft lips, and broad shoulders, and strong hands. Someone like Dean was meant for better than her. He was meant for someone soft, and curvy, and pretty. And it only made sense that that’s what he would want, too – not a dorky, skinny, book-worm little kid like her.

She had never thought much about what she looked like, or compared herself to other girls. It hadn’t really mattered. Dean didn’t walk them any of those other girls home from school, or make them tomato-rice soup when they didn’t feel good, or give them his old clothes to wear, or cut their hair, or teach them how to use a machete, or tuck them close at night to keep them safe. She’d always thought he did all that for her because he wanted to, because she was his Sammy and he was her De, and he loved her like she loved him, and he wanted her happy and safe. But maybe he only did it because he had to, because Dad had told him to. Dean did always say that it was his job to look out for her. Maybe that’s all it was for him.

Maybe it was like he said yesterday, they didn’t stick around anywhere long enough for him to fall in love with anyone. Maybe one day, after Dad killed the thing that got Mom, they would settle down somewhere and stay. Dad would be around more to take care of her, and Dean would spend more time with the girls that always seemed drawn to him like bees to honey, and maybe fall in love with one of them, and marry them, and have babies with them, and care about them more than anyone else in the world, and leave her far behind. She stared at herself in the mirror, and wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

“Sam – dinner!” she heard him call out. She trudged into the kitchen, and got out dishes to set the table. She snuck peeks at Dean, who still wouldn’t come near her. She deliberately stepped in his way as he moved towards the fridge, just to see what would happen. It was almost funny, like he was doing a hula dance, trying to side-step around her without touching her. He sat down across from her, and wouldn’t look at her. Even when he was talking to her, it was like he was looking at a spot just over her shoulder. And his face – she recognized that look, the one he only wore around strangers: blank, closed-off, not giving anything away. She’d never been on the receiving end of that look before. She hunched in on herself a little more as she pushed her dinner around her plate.

She’d screwed everything up with her selfishness, with her little-kid fairytale daydreams of her and Dean, together forever. She tried to get him to talk, but her words kept stalling, and so did his, and she finally just gave up. She kept her brimming eyes down on her plate and her mostly uneaten dinner. If she tried to choke down one more bite, it would just come back up on her. She finally pushed her chair back, and went to clean her dishes.

“You done already? You hardly ate.” He still wouldn’t look at her.

Sam put her dish in the rack to dry. “Not hungry,” she replied. “Going out back.” She grabbed her _Ghandi: An Autobiography _paperback that she had found left behind in a laundromat a few towns back, and headed out to the small porch outside the back door. Among the piles of junk stacked up back there, there were two old fraying lawn chairs Dean had found folded up in the ramshackle shed. She tucked herself up in a chair, and opened her book to read, but found herself mostly staring into the weed-choked back yard instead.

Dean could see her sitting out there through the living room window. It was obvious that everything from yesterday had finally sunk in, and Sam was all messed up over it. He ached to comfort her, just wrap his arms around her and hold her, but he had to stick to the plan. Best to just push it down and act like it never happened, and eventually it would fade away. She had looked so sad at dinner, would barely even look up from her plate. She’d gotten so quiet, too. He knew that was his fault. It was hard to carry on a conversation when you had to think carefully about everything you wanted to say first to make sure it was ok. Great, one more thing he screwed up. He racked his brain for something he could do to make her feel better, something that didn’t break his new rules. 

The screen door screeched and Dean leaned out through the doorway. “Hey.” He held out his hand towards her while he looked out at the yard. “You didn’t eat much dinner, brought you some dessert.”

Sam stared at the cellophane-wrapped package in his outstretched hand, then back at her book. “Oh. Um, no thanks.” Dean just kept staring at the back yard, the Twinkie held out to her. “Thank you,” she added after a moment. At least he was thinking of her. Or maybe just doing his job, she wasn’t sure about anything anymore. Either way, even if she had been hungry, Twinkies were the worst. They stayed good on a shelf for like, ever. Full of sugar, and cholesterol, and god only knew what kind of funky chemicals. She snuck a peek at Dean, who looked disappointed at her refusal. Here he was, trying to be nice, and she was throwing it in his face, like the self-centered brat she was. She racked her mind for an olive branch to hold out to him. “Are there any peaches left?” she asked.

Dean visibly stiffened. “Went moldy – had to toss it” he muttered as he went back inside, screen door slamming after him. 

_Smooth move, Samantha. Way to ruin things again. _She heard the tv click on, and went back to her book, or at least stared at it for a while, deep in thought. She wasn’t sure exactly what she had done or said wrong, but whatever it was had made Dean feel bad and pull away from her again. She had to try to be better, had to start putting him first, like he always seemed to do for her. She had to stop being so demanding and selfish. Next time he gave her something, even a gross Twinkie, she’d just take it and say thank you. He might be stuck taking care of her, but she didn’t have to make it harder on him. 

When it started to get dark, she went back in, and went into the living room. Instead of his usual sprawl, Dean was sitting up straight in one corner of the couch. “Check it out, Sammy – Movie of the Week is _Tremors. _Cool, huh?” He glanced at her quickly as she moved towards the couch. She carefully sat in the other corner. After a few minutes of her not moving any closer, Dean’s shoulders lowered a little, and he seemed to relax a little into the back into the couch. “Remember when I snuck us into the theater to see this when it came out? Man, that was great,” he chuckled. 

“I remember,” she said, smiling a little at the memory. Just her and Dean, side by side, laughing at the ridiculous monsters and cheesy lines. Like they were regular people, people who didn’t know monsters were real, and hunt them, people who had simple lives and money to burn on movie tickets whenever they wanted to go.

“Pole-vaulting…not a bad idea. Gotta remember that one, Sammy. Never know when it could come in handy.” Sam thought it probably wasn’t very practical to carry poles around everywhere with you on the off-chance you’d need them to vault something, and they wouldn’t fit in the Impala anyway, but she just nodded instead, not wanting to say the wrong thing and ruin this, too. 

“Get off the pogo stick, Cindy!” they both yelled at the screen, laughing. They grinned at each other, catching each other’s eyes for the first time that day. Dean’s grin faded a little, and he turned back towards the screen. Towards the end, the young hero of the story asked himself _“What’s a woman like that want with a guy like me?”_ as he went chasing after the leading lady, and both Sam and Dean thought they knew exactly how Kevin Bacon’s character felt in that moment. Except of course, in the end the hero got the girl. As they started making out, Dean jumped up and turned off the tv. “Time for bed, Sam. Go on.” 

She got up, went into their room to change into her pjs, and got into bed. She listened as Dean moved around, putting things away and checked the doors, windows, and the salt lines. He came into their room, grabbed some clothes, went into the bathroom and locked the door. He usually just shucked his jeans and slept in his t-shirt and boxers, but he came out from the bathroom in sweatpants and a long-sleeved t-shirt he usually wore in the winter. Sammy thought that was strange enough, but then Dean went to the other twin bed, pulled down the covers and got in.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”

“What are you doing?”

“Going to sleep.”

“Yeah, but why are you over there? In the other bed?”

Dean steeled himself. “You’re not a little kid any more, Sam. It’s high time we both slept in our own beds.”

Sam just stared at him, then looked down at the empty spot next to her. She looked kind of sad, but then again, she’d looked kind of sad all day. He had thought she’d be relieved to be on her own after what happened. _Oh shit, _he thought, his blood freezing_. _He was making her sleep in the same bed where everything had happened yesterday. Of course she was upset. Typical Sammy to not cause a fuss, to tough it out. He should have thought of this. He mentally smacked himself. He’d come up with a reason to switch beds tomorrow.

He started babbling, trying to distract her from her thoughts. “Besides, it’s hot, and you’re like an octopus when you sleep, I mean, you hog the whole bed, how’s a guy supposed to get any sleep around here,” he babbled, looking everywhere but at her. From the corner of his eye, he watched her bottom lip start to wobble. He turned away, heart aching, fists clenched tight against reaching out to her. 

The rest of the summer passed in a haze of remorse and anxiety for Dean. The heat had almost been the death of him, what with him never going shirtless, and covering up as much as possible, even during PT. He kept his distance, and Sam grew quieter. It sucked beyond the telling to constantly hold himself back from her. To never be able to hold her and comfort her like it seemed she needed after what he had let happen. To watch over her, and love her, and take care of her, but not get too close, never cross the line. Not ever let his guard down. Analyze his every word and deed before they happened, leaving nothing to chance. It was exhausting, and it broke his heart.

∞

_Colorado foothills near Pike’s Peak, present day_

Funny how Sammy didn’t seem to sprawl in her sleep anymore, now that she slept alone. Instead, she stayed curled up tight around herself. He had to wake her soon; Sam hated being late for school, especially on the first day. As quiet as only a hunter could be, he slipped out of his bed and moved over until he stood next to her bed, looking down at her. He listened to her long, even breaths, her adorable little snore that she insisted was something Dean had made up to tease her about. “Girls don’t snore, Dean”, she declared primly the first time he had clued her in on it. His rolling laughter at her solemn pronouncement only convinced her further that he had made the whole thing up. 

She was still deeply asleep, knees drawn up, arms tucked against her chest. He ghosted a fingertip over her dimple, watching that corner of her mouth tug up in a half smile. Every damn time, since she was a baby, and only for him. It was a secret thing, secret even from Sammy, cherished knowledge he held tight inside himself. In his darkest and most desperate moments - a hunt suddenly gone sideways, their food and money about to run out, Dad away on a hunt and so far past when he was supposed to be back that Dean actually started to think that maybe this time Dad wasn’t coming back, ever, and how the hell would he support himself and Sammy and keep the two of them together and away from CPS – times like those he’d think of that secret sleepy smile of hers that she only ever gave to him, take heart, and dig deeper for the strength to keep going. It’s never been a choice, really – he had to keep going for her, to watch out for Sammy. He’d do anything to protect her, keep her safe from all of the evils of the world. Including, and especially, himself.

He drank in one last look, then headed into the bathroom. He yawned widely as he stared at the dark smudges under his eyes, and then brushed, flossed, and rinsed with the harsh discount mouthwash his dad always stocked up on. At least this time it was the minty kind, not the bargain basement yellow one that tasted like industrial-grade disinfectant. John Winchester had instilled in both of his children at a very young age the zealous attention to dental hygiene that had been trained into him in Marine boot camp.

“If Dad wasn’t a good parent, do you think he’d even bother bugging us about flossing and brushing all the time?” Dean had once argued.

“More like ‘cause dentists are expensive, Dean,” Sam had scoffed in return.

“Well sure, of course a hunter would rather spend their hard-scammed money on ammo, not cavities and whatnot, Sammy. Doesn’t mean he isn’t also being a good dad.” Sam had just rolled her eyes, and Dean, wanting to keep the peace, hadn’t brought it up again.

It seemed to be getting harder and harder to keep the peace between Sam and their dad as time went on. No one could ever accuse John Winchester of being a coward, but they could never accuse him of being a fool, either. More than once Dean had wondered if their dad sometimes chose on hunts on purpose that promised a lengthy time away from his kids, because that’s what seemed to be happening more and more often lately.

Case in point: the eldest Winchester was currently somewhere up in the Rockies, hunting the ghost of an old miner that had been terrorizing the trails near a small town at the base of the mountains. Legend in that area had it that back in the 1860’s, a miner named Herman Grover had prospected for years up in the mountains when he finally struck gold in one of the caves up there, only to have a flash flood sweep him to his death in the very same cave before he could stake his claim. It was rumored that ever since, the ghost guarded his cave against anyone who came to close to his cave, so that no one could find and steal his gold. Several hikers had gone missing over the past few years, only to be found dead on or near trails around the old mines and caves. Officials had claimed the deaths were caused by animal attacks, but John thought some of the wounds looked suspiciously like they were made with a pick-axe. If the legends about Grover being swept away in the caves were true, it could take weeks to find all his bones to salt and burn them.

John had set him and Sam up in school the day they arrived, then he and Dean went out to get the two of them some supplies for the next few weeks. “Help wanted sign at that gas station,” Dean noticed, a few blocks from the motel. John gave it a long look, noting the repair garage and small convenience store next to the pumps, nodded, and pulled in. A quick scope of the place and few “Cristo's” later, and they walked out with an after-school job for Dean, three nights a week plus Saturdays.

“Good idea, son. Every little bit helps. And it doesn’t hurt to have a little extra tucked away in case the job takes longer than I expect it to.”

Dean had lit up at the praise. “I saw a dollar store down the street from the King Soopers,” fingers crossed he could pick up a few books for Sam there.

“Alright,” John agreed, “dollar store first to see what we can get there, then we’ll hit the grocery store for the rest.”

An hour later, the two eldest Winchesters were back at the motel, bringing in their haul. Sam put her book down and helped put away the canned soup and vegetables, cereal, mac and cheese, peanut butter, dried milk, bread, and of course, multiple bags of salt. Meanwhile, Dean helped their Dad carry in the weapons bag and quickly divvy up what he would need for the job. After a few minutes, John was ready to go. “Alright, you two know the drill. I’ll be back in a few weeks. Dean, watch out for Sammy. Walk her home from school every day, and when you go to work, first make sure she resets all the salt lines and doesn’t leave the room until you get back. Keep up with your training. If anything goes wrong, and I mean really wrong, and you can’t reach me, call Pastor Jim.” He handed Dean a slim wad of cash, hugged them both despite the epic stinkeye Samantha had given him, and headed for the hills, both figuratively and literally.

Shaking the memory loose, Dean headed out of the bathroom and towards the coffeemaker, hot plate, and dorm-sized fridge that made up their “efficiency” kitchen. Being able to reach all three at the same time was efficient, Dean had to give them that. Priority one: coffee, that magic go-juice that his mornings depended on, especially these last few months. A few sips down the hatch, and he came back online enough to set out bowls and spoons for cereal. He pulled back the curtains, letting in the pale sunlight that was just peeking over the Rocky Mountains in the far distance. Sam stirred, poked her head up from the bed. “Rise and shine, Sammy!” Dean called over to her. 

“It’s Sam,” she grumbled at him as she trudged towards the bathroom, grabbing clothes on her way. Which reminded Dean, he’d have to do laundry tonight. At least this motel had a washer and dryer on site – no need to haul their stuff to a laundromat. He made a PB&J for Sam’s lunch, and one for his own, and put out the box of dollar-store corn flakes and the milk.

Dean glanced at Sam briefly as she came out of the bathroom, then locked his gaze on the cereal box. His little sister was growing like a weed; she was about to grow out of the last pair of jeans they had that still fit her. He reminded himself to ask Mr. Garrity, his boss, if he could work a few more hours this weekend so they could afford to pick up some jeans for her at the thrift shop down the road.

Although he’d rather work on cars, the gas station already had two mechanics, Ron and Jerry, and didn’t need a third. He didn’t mind his job, though. Pumping gas and selling snacks and lottery tickets was pretty easy compared to other jobs he’d had, like bussing tables, and any job was safer than a five-finger discount or running scams. Ron and Jerry even let him hang in the garage with them and help them out sometimes with the cars if it was slow.

There was a small dive bar with a pool table out near the highway, too, if things got really tight. But Dean knew better than to try to hustle the locals when they were stuck living smack dab in the middle of them for a while. Someone could recognize him as the kid who worked at the gas station after school. With John away for who knew how long, there was no need to draw any kind of attention to himself or his sister that would ping the radar of CPS. He saved the bar as an absolute last resort. If they were down to absolutely nothing, and on their way out of town and needing quick cash, then he’d take that chance with his fake ID. For now, things were still manageable. Dad had paid up the hotel room for 3 weeks, and Mr. Garrity let him take home whatever food was in the coolers that was about to go past its date and get tossed, so they should be good for a while. 

They finished up breakfast, and Sam got her things together for school while Dean did the dishes. “Don’t forget your jacket, Sam, it’s chilly,” Dean reminded her, as he blessed the cold that came along with being a little higher up in the mountains, and the long sleeves and pants and extra layers that it required. He eyed the windbreaker she was wearing. If they were going to be here for a while, he would have to get her a winter coat.

Sam shrugged on her jacket and backpack, and stood there, waiting for Dean. “Ready, short stack?” She nodded. She’d always looked forward to the start of each school year, but never more so than this fall. It had been the worst summer of her short life. Cooped up together with a brother she idolized and who avoided her at every turn, and her barely able to look at herself – she was glad to have somewhere else to be, at least for a part of each day. A way to get a break, however, brief, from the unrelenting sadness. She’d tried everything she could think of the last few months to fix things between them. None of it had worked, and the void between them just kept stretching further apart. Sometimes she wondered: if she stood next to him and screamed, would he even hear her? 

She glanced up at him as they walked the two miles to her school in silence. No more holding hands going down the street, although he still kept himself on the left, between her and the road. Part of his duty, his job, to keep her safe. At least he still cared enough about her to do that, or cared enough to do a good job at whatever Dad told him to, anyway. She could still pretend that it was for her, even though she knew it was dumb, and she was just fooling herself.

They stopped in front of the school, Dean scoping out the front of the building. “Wait for me here when school is out, Sam. The high school’s a mile down the road, and I get out before you, so you won’t have to wait long. You have your knife? Salt? Holy water? Your books and your schedule?”

Sam nodded as she eyed the other kids heading into the school. “Yeah. I’ll be ok.”

Dean smiled then. “Course you will. Knock ‘em dead, Sammy.” He took a half step towards her, almost like he was going to hug her, like he always did on the first day of school, and her heart lit up with surprise and hope. She couldn’t remember the last time he touched her, much less hugged her. Her head snapped up, eyes wide, but she must have got it wrong, because he just stopped and waved at her instead. “See ya, Sammy.” He walked away, her so-cool big brother with his broad shoulders, his leather jacket, and his give ‘em hell attitude from the tips of his perfectly gelled hair all the way down to his bow-legged strut.

She sighed as she watched him go, along with most of the other girls in front of the school, and not a few of the boys, too. “Bye, Dean,” she murmured softly, then went into the school to start her day.

Dean slouched through his mostly boring day school day. Just because he didn’t waste time on assignments and homework didn’t mean he was stupid, no matter how acted otherwise sometimes. Hardly any of what he learned in school helped him as a hunter, so he usually did the bare minimum to get by. Mechanical engineering at his last school was one of the few exceptions, though. Dean had always been good with his hands, and something about figuring out how things worked just appealed to him. His teacher, expecting a hooligan from the other faculty’s talk, had been impressed, and approached him about going further with it the following school year. Dean, knowing that he would be long gone before that, just smiled and nodded, pushed it down, and resolutely didn’t think about it again.

What he couldn’t stop thinking about was how he had almost slipped up this morning and hugged Sam before leaving her at the school. The shock on her face had shook him out of that long-ingrained habit of a hug before the first day, but it had been a close thing. After everything that had happened, him hugging her like that was probably the last thing she wanted. He was lucky she tolerated him around her at all.

His last class finally ended, and Dean walked back to Sam’s school to pick her up. There she was, waiting for him like the good kid that she was, right where she was supposed to. Her brown hair shone in the afternoon sun, and those long legs of hers, strong and lean…she put all the other girls in the world to shame. She turned towards him just as he reached her, and those fox-slanted eyes nearly stopped him in his tracks. He pretended he almost tripped over an imaginary rock instead. “Sammykins! How’d the first day go?” _Sammykins? Where the fuck did that come from? Christ Almighty, get it together, Winchester._

“It’s Sam,” she replied, “and it was fine. The usual first-day stuff.”

Dean shrugged. “Cool. Ready to go?” Sam fell into step with him as they walked back to the motel. His hand ached to hold hers, keep close to him and safe, but he settled on keeping himself between her and the road. 

Inside the room, he reset the salt lines, and got Sam some graham crackers and milk for a snack while they did their homework. Or rather, while Sam studied and did her homework, and Dean rushed through his, guessing answers half the time. He shoved his books and papers to the side, and got up to start some dinner for Sam. He dug around in the small cabinet, and got out the familiar blue and orange box. “What do you want in your mac and cheese, Sam? Peas or spinach?” _Pick peas, Sam, c’mon. Peas, peas, peas. _

“Peas,” Sam answered. Dean mentally high-fived himself and thanked whatever god was in charge of canned vegetables. Vegetables in mac and cheese – seemed like sacrilege to him, but Sammy liked it, so peas it was. He’d just pick around them later when he got back from work and had whatever she didn’t finish. He’d scrounge for something at work later, too, hopefully bring home a few of the older sandwiches in the case for lunch tomorrow, too.

Dean changed into his work shirt in the bathroom, then looked back from the open door before leaving for the gas station. Heavy clouds overhead promised rain later. “Reset the salt lines on the door and windows after I leave, and keep them shut. Don’t leave the room, and don’t open the door for anyone. I’ll be back at 10.”

Sam nodded, then went back to her dinner. She finished up, washed her dishes, and sat up in her bed with the book that she’d have to write a report for next week for her English class. It was her third time reading _The Outsiders_, but she didn’t mind, it was one of her favorites. She lost herself for a little while among the greasers and the soc’s, and set it down again after a few chapters. She clicked the tv on and channel surfed for a while, but nothing worthwhile was on. It was getting kind of late, anyway. She left the tv on for some background noise, got ready for bed, using an old t-shirt of Dean’s as a nightgown, and slid between the covers.

She tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Usually the sound of rain outside helped lull her to sleep, but she just couldn’t seem to drop off, restless. She thought about the greasers, and how their lives were kind of similar in a lot of ways to her own. She wondered what life would be like as Cherry, a soc, but still nice in her own way, and pictured Dean as Dallas. Her brother was much better looking than Matt Dillon any day. Cherry couldn’t have resisted Dallas if he was Dean, that’s for sure. She turned onto her back, and her hand drifted down her thigh as she thought about a dark blonde, green-eyed Dallas, looking tough in a leather jacket and his hair greased back, soft full lips pursed in a smirk. She squirmed at the pulse she felt between her legs, and looked at the clock – Dean wouldn’t be back home for another hour.

She slid her hand down into her panties, and pressed gently against her mound, moaning at the tingles she felt at her center. She’d only done this a few times since that day months ago. A soft moan left her lips as she remembered Dean making her feel things she had never felt before, amazing things. She shrugged her panties down to her ankles, and the t-shirt up over her small breasts, and let her knees fall open. Her hand skimmed back down, over her breast, down her belly, along her wet crease. She dipped her fingers into her wetness, so warm and slippery. She drew them back up, and rubbed lightly over the little hardened nub at the top of her warmth, waves of sensation rippling through her. Her other hand grazed a nipple, stopped there, rubbing the hardening tip. She brought her fingers to her mouth, sucked them in, then brought her wet fingertips back down to her nipple, hard like a little cherry-stone, and squeezed gently as she rubbed it.

“Dean,” she whispered, imagining it was him touching her, that he was kissing her. She’d seen Dean kissing girls before, and wanted him to kiss her like that, so badly. She wanted his mouth on hers, his lips moving against her own, his hands roaming along her body, moving against each other. She rubbed her clit faster as she imagined it was Dean holding her, kissing her, touching her, loving her. Everything at her center was tightening, tightening, and she was so close. Caught up in her fantasy of a perfect first kiss, and muffled by the steady downpour outside, she didn’t hear the motel door opening quietly until the last second. 

It had been a slow night at the gas station, with few people venturing out in the rain. Ron had been nice enough to let him raid the fridge for a one of the older sandwiches, and let him leave early, too. Dean had pulled his hoodie up against the rain, and hurried the few blocks back to the motel. Samantha was usually asleep with the tv on by the time he got home. He opened the door softly, on the off-chance she was already asleep. Instead, she was lying in her bed, looking sweaty and a little flushed, staring at him with wide and panicked eyes. “Sam? You ok?” Was she hurt? Sick? She probably had caught a cold because he was the world’s shittiest brother and couldn’t do anything right, not even buy her a heavier coat before it was too late and she was sick already and what if it was bad? What if she had to go to a doctor, or worse, the hospital?

He slammed the door shut and rushed over to her. He sat down next to her on the bed, back of his hand to her forehead, staring into her eyes to see if they were glassy with fever. This was the closest he’d been to her in months, the longest he’d looked into her eyes, for months. He was mesmerized, and couldn’t look away.

Her flush got worse, spreading down her neck, where her t-shirt seemed to be…bunched up? _What the…_ He looked back up at her. Her eyes were clear, but her pupils were a little dilated, and she was breathing heavier than normal. “Sammy? Are you…what’s going on?” Alarm bells started ringing in his head as he realized he was close enough to her to feel her breath on his mouth. He started to lean back, and she put her hand on the back of his neck to stop him. His breath hitched as Sam closed her eyes and tipped her chin up towards him, her perfect pink lips nearing his. Way too late, he finally realized what he had walked in on.

He jerked back, and her eyes flew wide open. He shot up and backpedaled towards the bathroom. “You thirsty? I was thirsty at work. Drank a lot. I’ll get you a drink. Dehydration is bad. Dangerous. Be right back,” he babbled. He slammed the bathroom door shut, and leaned against the back of it. He was harder than calculus, dick straining uncomfortably at his zipper. _Discarded shifter skin, gross witchy hex bag ingredients, dead rotting ancient corpses, _he thought, desperately thinking of anything that would make his raging hard-on go away. He ran the water on cold until it was freezing, and splashed it all over his face, the best he could do in the way of a cold shower on short notice. He hung his head over the sink, dripping into it. _Man, that was a close one._ One mistake, but it could have set them back months. Sam didn’t know any better, but he sure should have. It was a moment of weakness that he couldn’t repeat. He stared at himself in the mirror. “Dude. Be better than this. Sammy needs you to be better than this.”

He tore open a wrapped-for-their-protection cup, and filled it from the sink. He took a deep breath, and opened the door. Sam was sitting up in her bed now, looking down at her hands in her lap. He walked over and set the cup down on the bedside table. “Here. You, um, you ok?”

She kept her eyes down. “Fine,” she replied flatly.

“Aw Sammy, c’mon. Don’t be embarrassed. We talked about that kind of thing, you know, back when…” his voice trailed off. She still wouldn’t look up. “Ok, shove over a little.” She moved towards the center of the bed, and he sat down next to her, looking straight into her eyes. He’d have to bend the rules a little, because he couldn’t screw this up. He had to know she understood. “Look, it’s alright. Hey, we live in each other’s pockets, we just gotta come up with some kind of signal, like a sock on the door, or something. Ok? It’s a normal thing, everyone does it. It’s nothing to feel bad about, or be embarrassed about.”

Instead of looking better, she looked worse. “Sammy? C’mon, look at me.” Something in him melted as she turned to him and he saw her eyes brimming with tears.

“Not embarrassed,” she mumbled, looking back down again, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. 

“Well if it’s not that, what is it? What’s wrong?” Dean sat and waited, banking his usual impatience. He’d wait all night if he had to.

“I…” she started and stopped. Took a deep breath. “Iwantedyoutokissme” she blurted out. Dean’s brain ground to a halt, gears grinding. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t want anything like that with me, and I’m just being selfish.” She started to cry harder.

“Sam, what are you talking about, being selfish?” Dean honestly had no idea what to make of what she was saying. 

“I know you don’t want anything like that with me, and I get it, I mean, I know what I look like, I’m not pretty, I know, I look like a stick next to all the girls you have hanging all over you all the time, I know I’m skinny, and, and, ugly, but I can’t help it, I want that, with you, and I’m sorry. I can’t h-help it,” she sobbed.

“What you look like? What the hell…” Dean stared at her in shock as she rambled. What the hell kind of nonsense was pouring out of her right now? Had he really made her think this? Everything he had done these last few months, cutting himself off from her, thinking he was protecting her, and instead he had only been hurting her worse. Understanding dawned, and every one of her tears that fell was another knife in his gut. _I’m lower than whale shit. _God, he had screwed this up so bad. Time to put it right.

“Samantha, listen to me. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, and the strongest, and bravest, and smartest. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, sweetheart. You are perfect, just the way you are. Look me in the eye, and tell me you understand that.”

She looked up at him, doubt in her eyes.

“Look, what happened a few months ago, it wasn’t about anything bad about you, you get that, right? It’s because brothers and sisters aren’t supposed to do that kind of thing with each other. I have to look out for you, protect you, even from me. It’s my job.”

Her eyes fell again. “Your job. Yeah, I know, you look out for me because you have to. I understand.”

“No, Sam. You don’t. I don’t just have to look out for you, I want to. There is nothing in this world is more important to me than you.”

She looked up at him. “Not even Dad, or the Impala?” she asked, sniffling.

“Not even Dad. Maybe the Impala. Kidding! I’m just kidding,” he replied, wiping away her tears with his thumb. “All I want is you safe and happy. Look, what happened back then, you were confused, just figuring things out about yourself, and you got your wires crossed a little, and I…I didn’t help. I should have known better, done better. So yeah, I pulled back with all the touchy-feely stuff these last few months. But it wasn’t because there’s anything wrong with you, it was to keep you safe. From me. I’m all you know, but you’re still just a kid. When you get older, you’ll understand.”

“You’re 4 years older than me, Dean, not some ancient elder,” she shot back at him.

“Yeah, well, I’m not an ancient elder, but I’m _your_ elder, so there.” He sighed. “I’m just trying looking out for you, Sam. It’s just. Your first kiss…it should be special, ya know? With someone you care about, and who cares about you. It should mean something.”

Sam thought for a moment. Slowly, she looked up at him. “Was that what it was like for you, Dean? Special?” She was torn between wanting it to have been special for him, and hoping it hadn't meant anything at all.

Dean thought back to blond and blue-eyed Heather from Minnesota. He’d been 13 at the time, and she was a sophomore working in the ice cream shop next to the motel their Dad had left them in. He had been at the end of the counter, trying to flirt his way into an extra scoop to take back to Sam in their room. He remembered Heather crooking her finger at him, pulling him into the stockroom, and wrapping her arms around his neck as she moved him back up against the shelves. “Kiss me," Heather had purred at him, "and I’ll let you take home an extra scoop and then some.” Her sticky lip gloss had tasted a little like bubble gum when her lips met his, and then for the first time ever, a tongue beside his own was slipping into his mouth. He’d been gobsmacked for a second, then quickly got with the program and made the most of the sudden opportunity that had fallen into his lap. He must not have been too bad at it either – they went at it until the bell over the door rung with another customer coming in. He he wound up bringing back not just an extra scoop for Sam, but a whole hot fudge sundae, along with a new appreciation for the female form. They had left town the next day, and he hadn’t really thought about Heather much since. The kiss had been as hot as it had been unexpected, but had it been special? “Well, no…but so what?” he mused.

“So what?” she asked, astonished. “It should be special for me, but for you it doesn’t matter? You deserved for it to be special too.” Dean scoffed.

Determined, she went on. “And I’m not ‘just a kid’, Dean, neither of us ever really has been. And maybe this isn’t normal, but what about us, or our life, is? You’re the only person I can trust, the only one who really knows me, the only one who really sees me, all of me. You’re the only one who could ever really love me, Dean. I love you so much. I want my first kiss to be with you, De, nothing could be more special than that. I want all my kisses to be with you, forever." She looked down. "I know you don’t want that, with me. I get it.”

He couldn’t stand another second of his girl feeling like this. _Fuck the plan. The plan sucked. Time for a new plan. _“Sammy, stop.” He gathered her up into his arms. “Baby girl, please. I’m so sorry. I pushed you away, trying to do the right thing, but I didn’t mean to hurt you by it, I swear. I do want you, Sam, the same way you want me. God help me, I do want that with you. Don’t you ever think otherwise. But we can’t.”

Sam sobbed into his shoulder. He held her, rubbing her back, rocking her closer into him. “Shh… that’s it. Let it out. You’re ok,” he murmured. “I’m here…not going anywhere.” After a while, her sobs slowed, and she sniffled. She pulled back a little and wiped her face on her sleeve.

“Here, take a sip of water,” as he held out the cup for her. She drank a little, then nodded, and he pulled the cup back and held it there. “More?” She shook her head, and he put the cup back down on the table. “Ok. Sit back.” He took off his flannel overshirt, dipped a corner of it into the cup, then started patting her face with it, wiping away her tears. The soft, damp cloth felt good, and cooled down her red, swollen eyes. He never took his eyes off of her as he tended to her. “Better?” he asked.

She nodded. “Better.”

They sat there for a while, Dean just holding her, stroking her hair, her back, her arms. Sam spoke quietly, so quiet he had to lean down to hear her. “I don’t want to kiss anyone else. Ever. I just want to kiss you, Dean. Just you.”

Dean closed his eyes tight. _Sammy needs me to be strong enough for the both of us._

“It’s wrong, Sam."

She pulled back, her face inches from his, breath warm on his neck. “Our whole lives are wrong, Dean.”

_Sammy needs me to be strong._

"It's illegal."

She raised her hands slowly, put them on his shoulders. “We break all kinds of laws, all the time.”

_Sammy needs me. _

"Sammy..." he whispered.

“Please, De?”

He opened his eyes, found his sweet baby sister, his beautiful girl, looking so sad, tears threatening again. She should never look so sad, and she should never, ever, look so sad because of something he said or did, or didn’t say or do. He had hurt her so much, and their life had enough hurt to go around already. The chance that they would ever stick around one place long enough for Sammy to find someone special, and build up to things slowly, the way it should be, were pretty slim. Just the thought of someone else holding his girl, putting their lips on hers, made him want to burn down the whole world. Sammy was his, since his dad put her into his arms and told him to take his little sister and run, she was his, and he was hers. They belonged to each other, forever.

“Sam. Samantha, look at me. Are you sure about this?” He stared into her eyes, saw nothing but trust and love gleaming back at him as she nodded yes. He thrilled at the sight. He leaned closer to her, nose up against her petal-soft cheek, breathed her in deep. Cheap strawberry-scented shampoo, and girl, and something just uniquely Sammy. He hadn’t slept right in months, without that scent nearby, her curled up safe beside him. He had missed it so badly.

He kissed her cheek, nuzzled her. “You can say no. I won’t be mad if you change your mind. You gotta be sure about this, baby girl. You can only ever have one first kiss.” Sam wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer to her.

“I’m sure, Dean. I swear.”

He held her cheek against his, whispered in her ear. “You want me to kiss you, sweetheart? Be your first?”

She shuddered, nodding, and whispered back, “First…only.” He groaned at the thought.

“Kiss me, De. Please?” Dean nodded, trying to hide the tremble in his hands. He pulled back away from her, smoothed her hair back and held his hand to her cheek as he stared into her beautiful, otherworldly eyes. She gazed back at him, trust, and want, and love in those eyes for him, only for him. He looked down at her mouth, her rose-petal lips, and closed his eyes as he leaned in, and his lips met hers softly. A feeling inside him like a circuit completing, and he was gone, just gone. He kissed her almost chastely, pulled back a little, looked at her. Her mouth was parted a little, and she stared back at him in something like wonder, feeling that connection too. He leaned in and kissed her again, slowly and gently. Lips against lips, he kissed her again and again, then pulled back a little.

Sam was overwhelmed, couldn’t believe this was actually happening. She felt like she was floating outside of herself, tingling all over. All she wanted was more.

He pulled back and stared down at his girl, her lips red and shiny. He held her face, looked deep in her eyes. “Ok?”

Sammy nodded slowly. “More, De? Please?” Dean felt the ties that bound him to Sam, always tight, pull even tighter. A feeling of rightness flowed through him, like tumblers finally clicking into place, two halves made whole. He’d die for her, and he’d die without her. There wasn’t anything she wanted that he wouldn’t give her.

He pulled her back to him and kissed her again. Softly, slowly, he ran the tip of his tongue over her bottom lip, and as she opened her mouth in a gasp, he drew her bottom lip into his mouth, and sucked gently. He released it, ran his tongue over her lip a little deeper. She timidly pushed the tip of her tongue against his, and he groaned helplessly as the tip of her tongue moved against his own. Encouraged, she gave little kitten licks against his lips, and into his mouth. The kiss turned deeper, both of them tasting and exploring each other slowly, Dean ready to pull back at the slightest hesitation. He swirled his tongue around hers, and she shot up closer into his lap, kissing him back with abandon.

Everything else faded away, until there was nothing left but his lips and her lips and love, love, love.

All the low hum of background thoughts of _badwrongno_ of the past few months were gone, all guilt and doubt and worry were gone. All that was left a bright and shining burst of _good_, of _right_, of _always_.

He held her close, scooped her up, and turned them so his back was against the headboard, and she was straddling his waist, letting her control the kiss. She kissed and sucked her way down his jaw, to his neck, to his ear. She sucked the lobe into her mouth, nibbling at it, exhilarated at the response in Dean, him pulling her closer, and holding her tighter. 

“Is it always like this, De?” she whispered into his ear, then made her way back up to his mouth.

“No, never Sammy. Never felt like this with anyone else. Just you,” her murmured against her lips. It was the God honest truth. No kiss had ever felt like this. He felt like he was made out of light, like he was shining and electric all over. He felt invincible, like all he needed was her by his side and he could conquer anything. He realized how miserable he’d felt the last few months, and vowed never again. He’d never push her away again, never deny her again. He’d give her anything she wanted for as long as she wanted it, and if she changed her mind someday, and she didn’t want him anymore, then he’d give her whatever she wanted then. She would probably come to her senses someday and hate him for this, but if that day ever came, he’d just hand her the knife himself to put him down with. His life was hers anyway. She could do whatever she wanted with it. 

She gazed at him with nothing but pure love and devotion. “More, De. Please?”

This girl, his sweet girl. “Anything, sweetheart, anything you want.” He pulled her closer to him, kissed her again, sweet and gentle, one hand at the small of her back, one hand behind her head. She scooted closer to him, inadvertently rubbing her center over his thickening cock. She moaned as the kiss turned hotter, deeper, tongues swirling around each other.

He kissed down her jaw, down her neck, whispered against her skin. “Poor Sammy. I interrupted you before, didn’t I? You never got to finish. You been doing ok with that, with making yourself feel good?”

Sammy kept rubbing up against him, holding him to her as she rocked. “Yeah…ok.”

Dean kissed his way back to her mouth, those sweet lips against his. “Just ok?” He stared into her eyes, hers heavy-lidded.

“Not the same as that day…never that good.” Dean sighed. His poor girl.

“Please, De. Need you.”

He held her close. “You need me? Ok, I’m here. I’ll help you, sweetheart. Make you feel good, take care of you.” He pulled her closer to him and centered her along his length, guiding her back and forth, her wet warmth dampening his jeans. “So wet. Good girl. Just like that. Back and forth. Feel that? How hard I am? That’s what you do to me. It’s all yours, all for you. Feel good?" Sam rocked harder against him, faster. "Yeah, that's it. Take what you need, baby girl. Big brother's here, gonna take care of you, make you feel good. I got you, Sammy. Give you everything you need, always,” he mumbled against her. His balls tightened as Sam gasped and moaned and rocked against him, faster and faster. 

“So good, De…so…touch me, kiss me, kiss…oh…oh” she moaned. She was so close. He licked into her loose and open mouth, held her tight against him and palmed one of her small breasts, squeezed the rock-hard nub with his fingertips, pinched it lightly and pulled it taut, rolled it in his fingers as he rocked and thrust up hard against her, and everything in her went down into a pinpoint, then exploded outwards.

He held her tight as he felt her stiffen and cry out. “That’s it, come for me. There you go, baby girl,” he crooned. She looked so beautiful, head thrown back in ecstasy, mouth a perfect pink O, eyes squeezed shut tight. She shook against him as the pulses in her slowed, her hips slowing with them, grip loosening, head falling to his shoulder.

He let her rest there for a minute, holding her close, then shifted a little under her. “Oh,” she gasped, rocking against him again. “Feels so good,” she slurred.

"Yeah, sweetheart? You want more? Gonna come again?" He groaned as he helped her rock against him again and again.

“Don’t stop, De, don’t…oh…coming…” she groaned into his neck as she stiffened again, clutching him tight, hips spasming against his.

"Yeah, Sammy, that's my good girl, come on, come for me, there you go.” He was so close to coming himself, but somehow it felt even better to hold off.

He pulled her face up to his, kissed the tip of her nose, each cheek, pressed his lips to hers. He kissed her one last time, then pulled her back to look at her. Red, kiss-swollen lips, dreamy look of contentment on her, like a kitten after a bowl of cream. He ran his fingers through her hair, tucked a stray strand behind her ear.

She sighed, then yawned widely. “C’mon, princess. Time for bed. Scoot over.”

Sammy gazed up at him sleepily, eyes half-closed, asked him slow, and tentative, “You’re going to sleep here...with me?”

He nodded back. “Never leaving you again, sweetheart. Learned my lesson, the hard way. I’m yours, and you’re mine. For as long as you want, baby girl.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead. The happy smile on her face got bigger. He unbuttoned his jeans, let them drop on the floor, shrugged off his t-shirt, shut off the tv, and crawled into the bed with her. He lay on his back and tugged her in until she was snug and safe in his arms, her head on his shoulder, and their legs tangled together, right where she belonged. He was still hard, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but her.

He didn’t know how this was going to play out in the long run, but they’d find a way to make it work. “You and me, Sammy, come whatever. We’ll figure it out, just like we always do.” He held her tight, and drifted off into a deep and easy sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments and feedback fuel the writing machine, so please drop a line if you are so inspired. Each one means a lot, and inspires me to keep going. 
> 
> A simple "Liked this" is just fine, but gentle constructive criticism is also welcome too. It helps improve writing skills, and thus, your future reading experiences. So how was it? If you read Chapter 1 back when it was first published, was this second chapter worth the wait? For both chapters - is it too sappy? How was the pacing (too slow? boring? too fast? just right?) Did I reuse the same words too often? Are the hot parts actually hot? Are they believable? How was the brief inclusion of John and the tiny smattering of case fic (I did not think I would ever include either of those two things in this story, but they showed up and didn't want to leave, so I let them stay). Were the flashbacks done right, or were they confusing? I tried to keep how Sam and Dean sounded in their speech as as close to canon as possible, even though they are in an AU and Sam is a different gender - does it sound like "them"?


	3. Love Bites

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dean and Sam have a snow day, and Sam learns all about love-bites.
> 
> Note: Chapter 3 takes place in the February following Chapter 2. Dean is 16, Sam is 11.

_(Love bites, love bleeds) _ _It's bringing me to my knees _

_(Love lives, love dies) _ _It's no surprise _

_(Love begs, love pleads) _ _It's what I need_  
  


_Love Bites – Def Leppard_

Snow fell in fat, lazy flakes outside the motel, swirling down onto the banks of snow already piled up on the ground. It was a perfect lazy Saturday afternoon, classic rock station playing softly in the background, the outside world hushed by the thick blanket of snow. The tiny baseboard heater ticked along, doing its damnedest to keep the cold outside at bay. Tucked warm and cozy under the blankets, Sam and Dean lay curled up around each other, safe and content. They traded sweet, lazy kisses and soft caresses as they slipped in and out of a light sleep, indulging each other in the touch that they were otherwise both so starved for.

∞

John Winchester had left three days ago, and was somewhere up in Wisconsin, helping Bobby hunt something that John wouldn’t even give name to. His face had grown dark while he was on the phone with Bobby, voice tense, one-word answers to Bobby not giving Dean or Sam any kind of clue what the two men were going after. Dean hadn’t been able to stop pushing his dad for details, dying to know what it was, what they were going to use to kill it, wanting to prove he was every inch the hunter his dad was. Sam had just sat quiet, nose in her book, brow scrunched in worry. 

“Dammit Dean, I said leave it alone!” John had finally snapped at Dean, then finished packing his duffle in silence.

Dean had stopped short mid-sentence, as Samantha stared at the both of them. _Way to fuck up,_ Dean had thought to himself. Faint flush staining his cheeks at being chastened like a child, he’d squared his shoulders and dropped his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Zipped duffel in hand, John had stared down at the floor. He knew Dean was just trying to help, and he didn’t want to leave like this. He’d looked up at both of them with an apology in his eyes, and pulled them both in for a hug. “Listen. The less you know about this thing, the better,” he had said. “It’s safer that way, for the both of you.” He’d let them both go and moved to the door. “I’ll be back in two weeks, three tops. Keep up with your training, and set the salt lines again when I go. If something really hits the fan, you have Pastor Jim’s number. Samantha, be good. Dean, watch out for Sammy.” 

With that, John and the Impala had rolled north like dark thunder, leaving Sam and Dean in the Buckeye Motor Lodge in a wide spot in the road calling itself Mossdale, in the middle of nowhere Ohio. The motel room was paid up for 3 weeks, and they had some groceries, two new-to-them winter coats, a wad of hustled cash, and a scammed credit card in case of emergency.

Dean tried to hide the small thread of worry running through the back of his mind about their dad, for Sam’s sake. From what Dean could tell, Bobby didn’t ask for help from other hunters very often, and even more rarely from John Winchester. And anything his dad was afraid to say the name of out loud had to be pretty serious. But Bobby was always careful when it came to hunting, and his dad was the best hunter he knew. His dad was a hero, who saved people. He decided, in true Winchester fashion, to just not think about it anymore, until and unless he had no other choice.

And despite his vague worries, he had to admit that he was looking forward to him and Sammy having some time to themselves. Dean had found, to his surprise, that keeping up appearances around their dad hadn’t been that difficult so far. Even when John was around, he was usually busy running down leads, doing research, looking for the next hunt, hustling pool, or pulling a Miller-time shift. The only time he seemed to pay close attention to the two of them was during training. Still, their dad was a hunter, one of the best. Dean and Sam suspected their dad probably noticed more than he let on, and they were careful to keep their interactions as normal (normal for them, at least) as possible whenever John was around. 

The idea of their dad hunting something that was so bad, so scary, that he couldn’t even tell them what it was made Sam nervous. But Dean had said there was nothing to worry about, and if Dean wasn't worried, then she probably shouldn't be either then. Besides, she couldn’t wait for some time with just her and Dean on their own. The last few months seemed like a dream, sometimes. After that night back in the fall, things with Dean had finally gone back almost to the way they had been before, except even better. All of the gentle touches, and long looks, and cuddling, and laughter that they had always shared – it was all back, and more. They shared a bed, and shared secrets, and one memorable night had shared a bath, with shampoo to make bubbles, and a votive candle Dean had swiped from a convenience store and kept hidden in his duffel. 

It had taken some time for them to get to where they were now. The morning after that amazing first kiss, she’d wondered for a minute if she had dreamt the whole thing. She had been hesitant that day, unsure of what to do or say, afraid of it all being snatched away again. She wasn’t sure how to ask for what she wanted, wasn’t sure what was okay to do and what wasn’t, worried about Dean changing his mind.

She had been snuggled up against him the next night watching tv, his arm around her the way they used to. She only had a vague idea of what was they were watching; all she could think about was Dean’s hand lying on his stomach, inches from her own. She had slowly reached her hand across until her fingers grazed his. She paused, frozen, every sense on high alert, and when he didn’t move away, threaded her trembling fingers lightly with his, breath held with hope and fear. Casual as could be, Dean had tightened his hand against hers, hummed with satisfaction, and pulled her tighter.

“Sammy, I made you a promise last night, and I meant it. It’s you and me, for as long as you want me.” He never wanted her to her to doubt herself or how he felt about her ever again, not for a second, and it killed him that he had made her feel that way in the first place. “If you want to hold my hand, do it. You want kisses, go on and lay one on me. You want something more, just ask me, or show me, hell, write me a note, send up a smoke signal…” She rolled her eyes, but she seemed more comfortable, so mission accomplished. He looked down, and those pools of gold-green-blue had him helpless for her. “If you’re feeling shy about something, that’s ok, but you don’t ever have to hold back. We always told each other everything, right? We still can. Anything you’re wanting, anything you’re curious about, just let me know, however you want. Anything I can give you, it’s yours for the asking.” 

She looked back up at him, held his gaze a long minute, then snuggled closer to him and sighed in contentment. She snuck a quick kiss, a peck really, to his chest, just to test it out. Dean had just held her tighter, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. With that, belief took hold, and hope blossomed in her.

Gradually, her fears and insecurities faded. Sam had never imagined in her wildest dreams that she could be so happy, that she could have something so wonderful with Dean, and keep it. Outside of those awful few months that past summer, when they had both been so touch-starved and miserable, they had always been free with their affection for each other. Slowly, in the months since that first kiss, she had become more and more confident about asking for or showing him when she wanted. Each time, Dean had welcomed her with open arms, never turned her away. 

It had broken Dean’s heart, how unsure about herself he had made Sam feel. He swore he would never do anything ever again to make her question how much he loved and wanted her. He went back to lavishing her with the attention that he always had before that disastrous summer. He was even more affectionate than ever, in fact, trying to make up for his mistakes. Any time Sam wanted kisses, or hugs, or snuggles, he made sure she had all she wanted. 

For anything above and beyond that, well, he still had a few rules for himself, ones he didn’t mention to Sam. They were pretty simple. One, he never denied her; two, he never made the first move; and three, he never took anything for himself.

He let her take the lead, and any time things got hot and heavy, he was happy to give her as many orgasms as he could, and honestly, he got off on it half the time, too. And if he didn’t, he took care of himself later in the bathroom, on his own. He made it a priority to clean the pipes as often as possible in the shower each morning, too. No matter how hard, how desperate he got, he couldn’t reconcile the idea of taking instead of giving. It just didn’t sit right with him. His little sister was way up high on the pedestal he had put her on, where she belonged, and he was down in the mud, just trying to do his best to keep her safe and happy. 

So far, it hadn’t been an issue, whether Sammy was too shy still to try touching him below the belt, or it just hadn’t occurred to her. Someday it probably would, and he’d have to deal with it. Until then, he took that thought, squeezed it into a tight little ball, shoved it way down deep, and locked it away, not to be heard from again until he had absolutely no other choice but to deal with it.

∞

They’d bundled up and gone outside that morning at Dean’s urging, to play in the snow like any other kids, normal as picket fences and apple pie. Dean had found a big piece of cardboard in the laundry room, and they used that to sled down the little hill next to the motel a few times before it got too soggy. Abandoning their makeshift sled in the small field at the bottom of the hill, Dean started packing snow into mounds.

“Whatcha doing?” Sam asked.

“Oh, this?” Dean shrugged innocently. “Not much. Just making a wall.”

Sam eyed him warily, and wondered if the cold was getting to him. “A wall? For what, like, an igloo? Hey, did you know that the word ‘igloo’ is the Inuit word for house? And everyone thinks igloos are cold inside, but it can get up to 60 degrees in there just from body heat.”

Dean was paused mid-pile, blinked at her. “No, Sam. I did not know that. How the hell did you know that? You know what, never mind.” The things his brainiac little sister could spout at random blew his mind sometimes. He resumed piling up snow. “Not making an igloo, anyway. I’m making a fort.” Dean kept packing snow, piling it higher and higher.

“A fort?” Sam asked, suspicion and excitement growing in equal measure. “What for?”

“Need it to block the snowballs we’re gonna be chucking at each other as soon as I’m done.” His crystal-green eyes sparkled with mischief as he smirked up at her.

Eyes widened and mouth dropped into an O, Sam turned on her heel, and fled with a shriek across the field to start building her own fort and pile of snowballs. An epic battle ensued, neither side caving, until they were red-faced and laughing helplessly. They called a truce and met in the middle of the battlefield to shake on it.

Sam, the little minx, did a leg sweep as soon as she took his hand and stood over Dean, laughing, until he pulled her down too. With a squeal, she landed on her back next to him, giggling helplessly. Snowflakes frosted her lashes, her pink cheeks, and a grin stretched wide across her face as she stared up at the snowy sky. He’d never seen anything so perfect. His Sammy, so beautiful, and smart, and fierce, and tender; everything he could ever want, more than he could ever hope to deserve. Emotion bubbled up inside him, and he felt a little sad for anyone who never got to have this. _If I could bottle this feeling and sell it, we'd be millionaires. _

Dean lay back, and started moving his arms and legs open and closed.

“Why are you flailing around like that?” Sam asked, puzzled.

“How dare you. I’ve never flailed in my life.” Dean made a note to look up the word ‘flail’ later. “Just figured, we’re already laying here, might as well make some snow angels before we head in. C’mon, Sammy, live a little,” he teased her.

She stared at him to make sure he wasn’t teasing her, then carefully stretched out her arms and legs and started sweeping them back and forth. “Am I doing it right?” she asked.

“Perfect – you’re a natural, kid.” He leaned back and finished making his own angel, then stood up carefully, and helped lift her up so she didn’t mess up the lines on hers. “See?”

"Woah. That's so cool." She looked up at him, and threw her arms around him. “You’re the best, Dean.”

“You think I’m great now, wait until we get back inside. I got some cocoa from the convenience store down the street, the kind with the little marshmallows like you like.” He looked up at the back of the motel, then down at her. “Race ya!”

They tore up the hill in a dead heat, Dean whooping and laughing and grinning beside her. Sam thought no one could ever be as fast or as strong as her big brother. He was like her own personal a superhero out of a comic book. Her very own blue-jeaned Batman.

They piled back into the room, still laughing. “Dibs on first shower!” Sam shouted, shedding her coat and grabbing clothes on her way. Dean just shook his head, ditched his coat, and reset the salt lines. He jumped in the shower when she was done, and quickly soaped and rinsed, no time for pipe-cleaning today. He toweled off his hair as Sam dried hers, both of them in comfy sweats and t-shirts. He got out mugs for cocoa, and heated up some water on the hotplate.

“Manwiches, or SpaghettiOs for lunch?” he called over to her. “There’s PB&J, but something warm would be better, I think. Whaddaya say, sis?”

Sam looked over, shrugged. “Yeah, warm sounds good. I think I’m still defrosting. Either is fine, you pick.”

“SpaghettiO’s it is.” He poured out the water into the mugs over the cocoa mix and stirred them up, then opened up the two cans from their provisions into the pot, and put it back on the hotplate to warm up. Sam got out 2 bowls and spoons, and soon, their bellies were full and they were on the bed, radio on low, sipping their cocoa, staring at the snow falling outside.

“Finished?” he asked. He set the mugs aside, got them under the covers, and shut the light off, the only illumination coming from the muted gray sky outside the window. He had an armful of baby sister, soft and cozy in his old ACDC t-shirt, and all was right with the world. They drowsed, in that lovely twilight between awake and asleep, just kissing and holding and loving each other, content to be exactly where they were. There were some moments in life that you wanted to capture and keep with you forever, and for Dean, this would forever be one of his favorites. Together, safe, full, warm, happy, and a whole day to themselves to do whatever they wanted, however they wanted. 

They explored each other, slowly, lazily, arousal on a low simmer. Sam ran her hand down Dean’s arm, marveling at his hard muscles, the freckles sprinkled like cinnamon on cream. She swore one day she’d finally count them all. Dean was humming along to Skynard’s “Simple Man”, a low purr rumbling against her skin. She tilted her face towards his, and they stared into each other’s eyes, lost in each other. He leaned down, stroked her hair, kissed her forehead. She felt pulled to him, like a magnet to true north. She linked their hands together and turned, snuggling her back against his chest, encircled in love. Dean nestled her in closer, twining their legs together. He traced a finger down her cheek, across her dimples. “Sammy,” he sighed. 

He savored his way down her neck. So delicious, his sweet little Sam. He wanted to kiss every little bit of her. He looked down at her lean arm, admiring her strength and her softness as he nuzzled wet kisses down to the sensitive flesh inside her elbow, and stopped, swirling his tongue into the sensitive skin there, nipping gently and soothing it again, licking and sucking. 

She gasped, a line of heat spiking directly from the crook of her elbow to her core, tingling heat shifting low in her belly. The things he did to her, the things he made her feel…it took her breath away. Such a delicious sensation, on a part of herself she’d never much thought about before, until Dean focused his wicked lips and tongue there. Her hips bucked back and forth as she lost herself to the intense feeling, writhing against him in pleasure. 

Dean gave a low hum of satisfaction, and continued down the inside of her arm, kissed the palm of her hand, the tip of each slender finger. He adored every square inch of his girl, and vowed to make sure she knew it and never doubted it ever again. 

Sam gazed down at Dean as he licked the vee between her fingers, then suckled the tip of her pinky as he drew her finger in between his plush lips. She felt his hard length behind her, pushed back against it, trapping it between her cheeks, making him groan. He stared into her eyes as he gently swirled her finger in and out of the wet warmth of his mouth. Her clit pulsed and throbbed, arousal rising in her like a tide. Her nipples were hard and tight, so sensitive to Dean’s t-shirt rubbing against them. He pulled off of her finger, then kissed the tip of it. Dean looked up at her with a gleam of mischief, and blew a raspberry into the palm of her hand.

“Dean!” she squealed, giggling, trying to tug her hand away. 

With a wide grin, he kissed her palm again gently in apology, worshipped her softly with his lips as he made his way back up her arm again slowly. Fire ran through his veins at the feel of her against him, at her desire unfolding in front of him. His cock thickened, hardened, the tip wet with pre-come. He mouthed wet kisses into the base of her neck, sucked hard at the skin there for a second, then pulled away, looking closely at her neck.

“Don’t stop, De” she mewled, rubbing against him. “Feels so good.” Every cell in her body was singing in joy at his touch. 

“Hmm,” he purred. “Gotta be careful. Don’t want to give you a hickey.” 

“What’s a hickey?” Whatever it was, if it was something Dean could give her, she was pretty sure she wanted it. 

“You know, a hickey, a love bite,” he replied. When she didn’t respond, he looked up at her, saw the look of excited curiosity Sam always got when she was about to learn something new. Did she really not know about hickeys, or was she pulling his leg? “It’s like a bruise, sort of, but not like a black and blue. They’re usually more just red. It happens if someone sucks on your skin too hard for too long.”

Sam’s experience with bruises was limited to those she had earned during sparring, or gym class. “Does it hurt?” she asked. Nothing she’d done with Dean had hurt her yet. But she had overheard girls in the locker room at their last school a few weeks ago. They might have been full of it, but some of them said that some sex stuff was supposed to hurt, especially the first time. Maybe hickeys were like that. 

“It’s not supposed to, not if you do it right. It’s supposed to feel good. Most people seem to like it.” He personally thought it felt good, the pulling and sucking connected in an express line straight to his dick. “Only downside is it takes a few days for them to fade away, and if it’s somewhere where someone can see it, it’s pretty obvious what it is.” Dean had never felt the need to hide the ones he had gotten, but girls usually freaked out about it, covering them up with makeup and turtlenecks and scarves.

Trading hickeys with strange girls was all in the past for him, though. Whenever his dad was around, Dean still looked at and flirted with girls to keep up appearances, and with waitresses of all ages (free pie was free pie, dammit), but that was as far as it went. He belonged heart and soul to his Sam. If she ever changed her mind, didn’t want him like that anymore, he guessed he wouldn’t live like a monk forever, but he didn’t even want to think about living that kind of life. And the thought of Sammy with someone else…someone else putting their hands on her, kissing her, touching her… 

Sam looked down at him, eyebrow raised. Dean was stock still, staring at the bed, and was he…growling? “Dean. Dean!” she nudged him.

“I’m with ya, Sammy.” Dean shook off his dark thoughts, dipped his mouth back down to her neck. Nobody else in the world could ever be this perfect for him, and he'd treasure and cherish her for as long as she'd let him. “Hmm, where were we?” he murmured.

“You were telling me about hickeys,” she answered. If it didn't hurt, then she wanted to try it. She was silent for a minute, then asked shyly, “Will you give me one?”

“You want me to give you a hickey?” _Oh god yes, mark you, claim you, show the world you’re mine, mark me up right back, claim me too, shout it from the goddamn rooftops. _His heart roared in glee, even as his mind cautioned against it. 

“Are you sure?” Dean wouldn’t refuse her, he had sworn to never do that again, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to reason with her. “I dunno, Sam. They last for a few days. What if Dad comes back early, and he sees it?” Just the thought of that gave him the willies. 

Sam rolled her eyes and pulled out Bitchface #7, the one reserved specially for when their Dad pissed her off. “Since when does Dad ever come back sooner than he says he will?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty rare, I’ll give you that, but it could happen, Sam. We have to be careful.” 

“If he comes back when he said he would, then there’s plenty of time for it to fade,” Sam reasoned. “And if he comes back before then, I’ll hit myself there and make it look like a bruise from sparring.”

“Such a devious mind, Sammy. I like it." He paused. "But seriously, I don’t want to do anything to you that makes you have to hurt yourself like that.”

Sam thought for a moment. “Or…” her voice trailed off.

“Or?” Dean asked, eyebrow raised. What was his brilliant girl going to come up with now?

“Or you could put it somewhere he’d never see it. Like we did with the car, when we put our initials on her. Remember, De?”

As if he could ever forget that day. Him and little Sammy, carving their initials into the rear dash, under the thin layer of cloth so their dad wouldn’t see. The idea settled in him, fit right into place. It only seemed right to have his mark on the only two things in this world that had ever been truly his. And he could do it where no one else would see it. His little sister was a genius. And so goddamn sexy, laid back, her hair spread out over the pillow. He ran his fingers through the silky tresses as he kissed down the line of her neck. He didn't answer for a moment, nuzzling softly at her neck, lost in the idea of licking, sucking, nibbling her in her secret places that only he got to see, to touch, to taste.

Want bubbled up inside of Sam at the thought of being able to see the proof of his love for her on her body, like a kiss left behind. She could feel sticky warmth seeping through her panties and between her thighs in anticipation. She couldn’t stop moving, kept rubbing her thighs together to try to get some friction where she needed it most. “Do it, De,” she said in a low voice. “Want to see it on me.”

He groaned at the visual in his mind of him sucking hickey after hickey into her smooth skin. He kissed his way down her throat to the hollow of her neck, cupped the soft swell of her breasts, points of her nipples hard against him through the thin t-shirt, soft with age. He pushed the hem up, and she grabbed hold of it and pulled it off over her head, leaving her in just her pink cotton panties, darkened at the front with her slick. He ran his hand over the simple cotton, rubbing lightly over her warmth as he pressed light kisses between her breasts. 

She had such gorgeous little tits, all tawny skin and dusky pink nipples, hardened now into two stiff peaks. He kissed his way around one of them, open-mouthed wet kisses all around the areola, every moan and sigh of hers making him grind harder into the bed. He lapped soft kitten licks at her hard nub, then blew gently across it, watching it pucker even harder. He rolled her other stiff point between his fingertips, pulling at it gently, as she bucked her hips up and mewled. He loved how responsive she was from him suckling her little cherrystone nubs, how it always made her come undone. “Love how wild this gets you, sweetheart” he drawled up at her. It got her so hot, he wondered idly if one day he could make her come just from this. Was that even possible? Or just made-up bullshit that people sent in to "Penthouse Letters"? He'd have to think about that some more later on, but right now he had other tasks at hand.

“So good, De,” she whimpered as she ground her thighs together, nerves alight, pussy throbbing and wet. She loved having his mouth on her anywhere, but something always came over her whenever he was sucking on her nipples, something primal and almost sacred that she didn’t quite understand. With every pull of his lips, every flick of his tongue, she soared higher. 

“Gonna suck on you hard now, baby girl. Gonna see it when I’m done. Want that?” _Please say yes please please _

Her back arched up as a bolt of desire shot through her. “Yes, oh god yes, suck on me, mark me up. 'M yours, want to see it on me,” she babbled, writhing.

_Jesus, she was so fucking sexy like this._ All hot and bothered, only half-aware of what she was saying, no shyness, no filter, just pure want and desire. He started sucking the side of her breast into his mouth, as gently as he could while still hard enough to pull her blood to the surface of her delicate skin. He checked his work, humming in satisfaction at the berry-red mark. She was sprawled against the bed, breathing fast, flushed, eyes shut tight.

“Look. Baby girl, look,” he whispered, drawing her eyes open and down. She sucked in a breath at the red oval on her breast and moaned loudly.

She pawed at his shirt. “Off, take it off. Want to feel you.” Why were there so many layers between them? There shouldn't be anything between them, ever. Just skin against skin, heart against heart, forever. 

He tore his shirt off with a growl and rubbed against her, a light sheen of sweat on both of them. He bent down between her breasts, sucked another hickey there, then moved to her other breast. She ran her hands over his body, rubbed over his chest, pinched at his own nipples, shocking him motionless for a second before he groaned at the spark it sent through him. She played with him there as he licked around her nipple, teasing her until she whined, then sucked the hard point into his mouth, laved it with his tongue as he sucked. He moved to the side of her breast, sucked a dark red hickey onto it. She was bucking against him, grinding her pussy against his thigh. God, he loved how hot this made her, how she was getting off on it. It made him even harder, and he felt a burst of pre-come bubble out of him. He grunted as he ground his cock against the bed, desperate for friction, his baby sister squirming under him.

“Feels so good,” she sighed. Her skin was electric everywhere he had made his mark on her, hot and tingling. It didn't hurt, oh no, quite the contrary. Every little berry-colored oval was sensitive, throbbing. 

“Yeah? Making you feel good, sweetheart?” he rasped. He ran his fingers over the hickeys on her breasts, each hitch of her breath sending him higher. 

“Mmhmm. So good. Love seeing you all over me. Making me so wet,” she whispered. Desire flowed through her, hot and dark. 

“God, baby girl. What you do to me. So fucking sexy, getting all hot and wet when I mark you up. Wanna put them all over you,” he purred. 

“Yeah, De. More. Don’t stop.”

He shifted so he was laying between her legs, humping his dick against the bed. He teased her nipples with his fingers, rolling and pulling, as he left a line of hickeys on her stomach in the shape of a “D”. 

“Mine. See?” She looked down and keened at the sight of his initial on her, marking her as his.

He tugged the waistband of her panties down a little to suck a hickey onto her hip bone. She palmed them down, getting them stuck around her thighs, until she whined in frustration. He tugged them the rest of the way down for her, let them fall on the floor as her legs fell open in front of him. His gorgeous little flower, blossoming just for him. He breathed her in, warm fragrant aroma of girl, that salty-sweet tang of his baby sister that he could never get enough of. He sucked on the inside of her thigh, leaving a hickey there as she fell apart. “De,” she breathed.

“What baby? What do you want, hmm? Tell me. Tell big brother what you need.” 

“Take yours off too. Want to feel you against me.” He shucked his sweats off, but left his boxers on. He moved up until he was leaning over her, lined up his cock with her clit, and ground down, swiveling his hips, watching Sam get closer and closer to the edge. 

“So close,” she mewled. “Touch me, De. Please, need you. Touch me, need your hands on me.”

“Oh, sweetheart. Yeah, I’ll touch you. Anything for you.” He laid down next to her on his side, trailed a finger down between her breasts, outlined the “D” on her stomach, making her moan. He slid a finger down through her warm wet seam, hot girl juice coating his fingertip. “So wet, honey. Mmm, love how hot you get, how much you want it.” He brought his hand back up to her breast, rubbed her slick all over her nipple, then licked it off, suckling her nub as he slid his hand back down into her warmth, teased into her entrance. 

He slid his finger back up to her clit, and rubbed there while he got every drop of her slick off of her tit, savoring the taste of her. She was soaking wet, so slippery and warm. He rubbed gentle circles over her clit, pinched the hood gently. He dipped down for more slick, rubbed again in a tight circle over her hard, swollen clit, faster and faster.

Her hips lifted off the bed as she quivered, tightened impossibly, then exploded out with a soft cry, shaking and throbbing, as wave after wave of pleasure washed through her. As she came back to herself, Dean was sucking another hickey, this one on the inside of her thigh. He moved to the other thigh to give her a matching one there.

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

“So good. Came so hard.” She smiled lazily up at the ceiling. She was light as a feather, felt like she would float away if not for the invisible bonds tethering her to Dean. Dean would keep her safe, grounded. 

“Love making you come, honey.” His mouth moved closer and closer to her promised land as he humped his aching hard cock slowly against the bed.

“Can I taste you, baby?” He looked up at her from between her legs. 

“Anything, you can do anything you want. I'm yours. Love you.”

His heart swelled to bursting. “Love you too, sweetheart. So much,” he rasped, voice rough with emotion.

He knew from trial and error that she was capable of multiple orgasms, he just had to time it right. She was too sensitive right after, but if he waited half a minute, she’d still be close enough to the peak that he could bring her back up to it, over and over. He loved making her come again and again, as many times as he could. Nothing was hotter than his Sammy writhing in ecstasy, coming hard, pussy glazed wet, throbbing and pulsing against his hand, or his mouth, or both. Just the thought of her getting off had him close to the edge, friction from rubbing against the bed just short of enough.

He licked up the center of her pussy, flattened his tongue, and swiped a wide lick up to her clit. He swirled his tongue around her hard little nub, still so swollen. Around and around, faster and faster, fucking his thumb in and out of her soaking wet virgin hole, palm of his hand spread under her ass. She was as tense as a bow string, muscles straining, and then she cried out again and ground her sweet cunt against his face. He humped harder against the bed, her cries of getting off bringing him so close. 

She slumped back, a light sheen of sweat over her whole body, face red, eyes glazed. His hand drifted across her stomach; he couldn’t stop touching her. She giggled and squirmed. “Tickles, De. Stop.” She dragged his hand up between her breasts. He trailed his other hand over her, cupped her lush mound, dragged his fingernail over the nipple, dark pink now and so sensitive. He tugged and gently rolled the nub in his fingertips. She moaned, and started grinding against his mouth again. She took his hand from her tit, and dragged it up to her mouth. He was stunned, jaw fallen open, as he watched her lick at the tip of his finger, then suck the tip into her soft, warm mouth, tiny pink tongue swirling circles around it. He gave a soft moan at the gentle suction, shooting heat straight from his finger to his dick. He licked down the inside of her lips, went after every drop of her juice he could get, watching her all the while as she watched him. 

She pulled his finger into her mouth, deeper and deeper, licking and sucking, until almost his whole finger was sucked into her mouth, her lips in a tight O around it, drawing it back out of her mouth and flicking her tongue over the fingertip, and sucking it back in again. He thrust his tongue into her slippery warmth, over and over, fucking her with his tongue, then licked his way back up to her clit. They locked gazes as he sucked and licked her clit and she sucked and licked his finger. _Oh god she’s sucking it like a cock, sucking my finger down like it’s my cock_, he thought, and he gave a low rough cry as he erupted brutally hard, pumping out rope after rope of hot creamy come into his boxers as she came again with him, hips thrusting against his mouth on her, moaning around his finger. 

He pulled away from her sensitive clit, mouthed gently around her lips, down to her entrance. Mmm, so delicious. He licked his way back up. He wondered if maybe she had one more in her. He wanted to at least try. Her head was thrown back, and she was panting like a thoroughbred after a race. He licked around her clit softly, gently, not touching it. She moaned softly, could barely move. He spread her wide, licked all around her clit but still didn’t touch it.

“De, I…I don’t think I can again,” she sighed.

“It’s ok, baby. I just can’t stop tasting you. You taste so good. Just lay there, you don’t have to do a thing. If it’s too much, tell me and I’ll stop. Ok?”

“’Kay” she said faintly.

“Mmm, that’s my good girl.” He lapped at her, wide warm swipes of his tongue, soothing her. He gave one soft, barely-there lick over her little pink pearl, and she moaned sweetly in response. _Might be able to give her one more. _He kitten-licked her gently, softly. She moaned harder, hips rocking.

“So good, De, oh god. Don’t stop.”

“Never baby. Keep going ‘til you tell me stop. Lick you all night sweetheart. Wake you up with my mouth on you, have you coming before you’re even awake.” She moaned louder, hips bucking. 

_Hell, if I can have wet dreams, why can’t she?_ He tucked the idea away for another day as he went back to the task at hand, licking his sweet girl into another orgasm. He swirled his tongue all around her clit, over and over again. He sucked her clit into his mouth, held it gently between his teeth, and suckled it like a nipple, faster and faster.

His tongue, so soft against her, so wet. He fucked his thumb back up into her and his other fingers slid up her cleft, swiping against her little furled hole there. “Oh…oh god…I…oh god, coming, gonna come again, oh!” She almost screamed his name as she orgasmed again, grinding against him, fingernails digging into his shoulders, making her own crescent marks on his skin, him loving it. He could feel her pulsing against his mouth and hand. Christ, he was half-hard again.

She collapsed back, completely limp, out of breath like she had just finished a marathon. He inched back up to her, waited a few minutes for her to cool down. He snuggled her into his arms, smoothing back her sweaty hair that was plastered to her forehead. He had sweat dripping off of him too.

She opened her sunflower eyes and gazed up at him. He kissed her gently, chastely. She could taste herself on him, and loved it.

“You good, princess?” he asked, looking down at her.

“So good.” She looked down at herself, then slowly back up at him. “I like hickeys, it’s like I can see your love on me. How I belong to you.”

He hugged her tighter. His girl was going to be the death of him. “Just like I belong to you, honey. Always.”

She ran a hand through her hair. “Gosh, we’re kind of gross.”

“You ain’t kidding. I got an idea. Wait here.”

She waved at him weakly as he stumbled on shaky legs to the bathroom. He dropped his boxers, wet a washcloth and cleaned himself up. He took a long piss, flushed, washed his hands, all the while admiring in the large mirror the crescent marks on his shoulders Sam had dug into him with her nails. They were like a badge of honor, and a claim of ownership, all wrapped up in one. He plugged the tub and ran the water to fill it, opened up one of the crappy little hotel shampoo bottles and dumped it in, letting it foam up with bubbles. He waited until it was half-full, then shut off the water.

He walked back over to the bed. She was still laying where he left her, arms akimbo, eyes closed, not sleeping but close to it. She was so beautiful, inside and out, and way out of his league. He’d spend the rest of his life trying to deserve her.

“Hey…sleeping beauty. C’mon.”

“I can’t move,” she grumbled.

“Ok. Upsa-daisy, sugar-booger” he said, stooping to scoop her up off the bed in a bridal carry.

“Dean! What are you doing,” she squealed, laughing. “Sugar-booger…you dork.”

“Yeah, well, this dork has a surprise for you. C’mon.” He walked into the bathroom, turning sideways to get them through the door. He set her down next to the tub, ran her a cup of water. She swallowed it down gratefully, and he chugged down a cup himself, then pulled the shower curtain back. 

“A bubble bath?” She yawned and stretched. “Oh my god, you’re the best.”

He helped her into the tub, then lowered himself carefully in behind her. They both groaned in contentment, the warm water soothing them, and washing them clean. They lay there soaking, stroking each other’s arms. She fit perfectly between the vee of his legs. She felt so safe, leaning back against his strong chest, his arms around her.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I give you a hickey later?” she asked, sleepily.

A faint pulse of want thrums through him at the thought. “Mhmm. Can’t wait,” he hummed back.

In a life of hardship, danger, and uncertainty, these few and far-between bubbles of happiness that they carved out for themselves were a balm to their souls.


	4. Handyman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean is 17, Sam recently turned 13.

_Hey babe, I'm your handy man_ _  
I'm not the kind to use a pencil or rule  
I'm handy with love and I'm no fool  
I fix broken hearts, I know that I truly can  
Come-a, come-a, come-a, come-a, come, come-a, come-a  
Yeah, yeah, yeah_

_Handy Man – Jimmy Jones_

Sunlight gleamed off of chrome as the Impala barreled through the plains of Wyoming, west towards Idaho. Dean tapped the wheel in time with "Fire Lake", and snuck a peek towards shotgun. Head back and eyes closed, Sammy’s hand surfed the air currents just outside the open window, the wind beckoning strands of her long brown hair into a gentle dance. A rush of warmth shot low through Dean’s belly, and he glanced at his Dad sleeping in the back seat before turning his eyes back to the road stretched out before him. Road rushing under his wheels, Sammy by his side, his family together and safe; life for Dean just didn’t get much better than this. He hummed along with Bob Seger, tape playing low, as Baby chewed up the miles along the two-lane blacktop shimmering in the June heat. 

The drive through Idaho was as predictably dull as always, dotted with stops in bars and back rooms along the way for John and Dean to hustle up food and gas money while Sam waited in the car. Pool, poker, darts; John taught Dean everything he knew, and as always, Dean watched and listened carefully, soaked it all up like a sponge. His boy had always been good with his hands, John thought, with no small measure of pride. Had a knack for anything mechanical or physical; just seemed to automatically know how things moved, how they fit together, how they worked. Dean being a natural ham made the acting part of hustling a snap for him too. John just had to rein him in a little here and there. Part of the art of hustling was knowing when to quit, and Dean was still learning that it was better to walk away with a smaller stack of bills than to risk fighting your way out for a larger stack. 

They were on the final push to their destination, a remote area just outside Elkins, high in the mountains of the Idaho panhandle. Late-night thoughts and the hum of the road kept John company behind the wheel while Dean and Samantha got some sleep in the back seat. It was coming on one a.m. when they finally arrived, pulling up a long uphill dirt road that ended at a small clearing with a cabin. John switched off the engine, and gazed in the rearview at his sleeping children behind him, Sammy stretched out on the back seat, Dean sprawled next to her on a pile of their duffel bags and army blankets shoved into the footwells. Time was when they would both fit on the seat together, with room to spare, and John wondered with a vague sense of disquiet where the years had gone. He could never have imagined when it started that this quest for revenge would have taken this long, the many years he would be at it, still forging grimly forward with two teenagers in tow.

Doubt wormed its way in for a brief moment, whether or not it was all worth it. Looking at his children, he knew it was. This was for them, ultimately. Obviously, raising kids in the life was not ideal, no two ways about it. But they had all adapted, and John knew that Dean and Samantha would never fall unsuspecting prey to the evil forces that lurked out there on the edges, in the shadows; not like John had. He’d made sure of at least that much for them.

Despite the adverse conditions of their upbringing, or maybe because of it, they were both good kids at heart. Although, he had to admit that lately, he had no idea how to handle his daughter, or hell, even talk to her anymore most of the time. Samantha sniped at him more often than not these days, which tried his limited patience sorely. Things would escalate, neither of them backing down, until John lost him temper and barked out orders, and Sam went silent in an ice-cold rage. He buried any guilt he felt over it; he couldn’t show weakness, couldn’t cater to her just because she was a girl. Sam had to learn to follow orders, just like Dean. Following orders without question could mean the difference between life and death sometimes.

How he wished more than ever that Mary was still here with them. His poor gal was probably looking down and shaking her head at him as he blundered his way through fatherhood. Mary would have known how to get through to Sam, he was sure of it. Then again, if Mary were still here, they wouldn’t be living this hunter’s life in the first place.

He sighed, then got out of the car and stretched. “Miss you, sweetheart,” he whispered to the blanket of stars strewn overhead in the black velvet sky. He quietly opened the back door of the car, and tapped Dean’s foot gently.

Dean opened his eyes, squinted around until he found Sam, then looked up, meeting his dad’s eyes looking back down at him.

“We’re here, son. Wake your sister up and head inside. Key’s above the doorway,” John said quietly as he made his way to the trunk.

“Yes, sir.” Dean yawned and stretched in the limited space. “Sammy,” Dean called. Sam mumbled something and turned over towards him, hair falling over her face. “Sis. Hey, we’re here,” he murmured to her as he brushed her hair back, running a finger over her dimples, drawing out the secret sleepy half smile he loved so much. She opened her eyes, stars reflected in their depths.

“Wakey wakey, sleepyhead,” Dean said. “C’mon, get up. Just a few minutes, then you can go back to sleep.”

Sam dragged herself upright, yawning widely. She looked around blearily, and followed Dean out of the car. She stared at the cabin and yawned. “I’m too tired to walk all that way, De,” she whined, looking up at him plaintively.

Damn puppy eyes, they got him every time. “It’s like 50 feet, max,” he replied, feeling himself cave, knowing she saw it too. “Fine, hop up lazybones,” he sighed dramatically, smiling inwardly at still being able to carry her like this, “but you’re in charge of the flashlight now. No slacking on the job.” He knelt down, and held his arms out like stirrups. Sammy wrapped her arms around his neck and hopped on his back.

“Hi-yo Silver!” she called out, laughing, Dean laughing with her.

John grinned and shook his head as he watched the two of them make their way to the cabin door. He was glad that in this lonely and dangerous life, his kids had each other to rely on, to confide in, to protect each other. One day soon, he’d track down and take out the evil son of a bitch that had put them on this path. Afterwards, he’d finally settle them all down somewhere, get them living closer to some kind of normal. Until then, it was life constantly on the move as he tracked down leads on that yellow-eyed son of a bitch, and only each other to fully trust in. 

That was one of the reasons John brought them here; it was a good spot to keep them all safe for a few months, secluded from dangers of both the human and non-human kind. Tucked away in the woods, nearest neighbor a mile down the road, no supernatural threats anywhere close by, warded six ways to Sunday, and surrounded by a ring of iron set into the ground, it was the safest place John could think of for him and the kids to hole up for a few months.

It belonged to Tim Corbin, a hunter who John had helped with a vamp nest a few weeks back. More than helped, actually. John had saved Tim’s bacon when it came right down to it, and the older hunter had been so grateful that he’d told John about the cabin and offered him and the kids the place to themselves for as long as they wanted that summer. It was Tim’s refuge whenever he needed a break from hunting (John wondered what that was like), and he let a few other trusted hunters use it now an again when they needed a safe place to lay low for a while. He’d told John he meant to retire there one day. John had just looked at him, eyebrow raised, until Tim looked away and shrugged. He knew as well as John what the odds were for any hunter to live long enough to retire.

Regardless, John appreciated the use of the cabin, and meant to use it as a base of operations for the summer. He could go on hunts, and leave Dean and Samantha to work on their PT, weapons and combat training, and wilderness survival skills while they stayed safely off the radar. Unlike in a motel, the last one of which had resulted in a close call with Child Protective Services. Too close, in John’s opinion. Damn his luck for picking one of the few no-tell motels with a manager that actually paid attention, however misguided she had been. 

John was pretty sure he had passed the CPS rushing towards the motel as he rushed them in the opposite direction, out of town, and relieved at avoiding them once again. He’d rather tangle with a poltergeist than one of the CPS lackeys trying to take his kids away from him. He knew they were just doing their job, and some of the ones he’d dealt with over the years had even seemed to mean well. Sometimes, on nights that were darker than usual, when he was working overtime on a Miller-time shift, he would even wonder if his kids would be better off with someone else taking care of them. But in the cold hungover light of day, he knew there was no way in hell that he would ever let someone else raise his children, leave them unprotected among civilians like that, and worse, likely separated from each other.

No, it was best to keep the three of them together, and he’d do whatever it took to make sure that happened. Even if someone or something did manage to separate the three of them, he’d trained both Dean and Samantha on what to do, and drilled them on it until it was rote. Just like captured soldiers, his kids knew how to bide their time, look for and exploit weaknesses, defend themselves, escape multiple scenarios, find each other again afterwards, and then reunite with him. He’d trained them as relentlessly on it as he had with physical fitness, weapons, hand-to-hand combat, and emergency field medicine, and they had both learned their lessons well. “Improvise, adapt, overcome” was a Marine motto that John had taken to heart, and instilled in his kids. Anyone or anything who thought to keep any of the three Winchesters away from each other against their will for any significant length of time would be in for a rude awakening.

~*~

Dean reached the cabin, got down the key, unlocked the door, and looked around inside the cabin with the flashlight carefully before going in. At first glance, it looked a lot better than what he had expected. There was a fair-sized open living area, with a fireplace, couch, and two stuffed chairs. An ancient tv in the corner had honest-to-god old-fashioned metal ‘bunny ears’ antenna. They’d be lucky to pick up three channels at most. No doubt this far into the sticks at least one of them would be a 24-7 holy roller channel with people speaking in tongues, and preachers begging the poor saps watching to mail in their hard-earned dollars. Dean was relieved to make out some shelves with a few decks of cards, and what looked like some board games or puzzles. There were even a few books that didn’t look too old. Sammy would be happy about that.

Dean would be happy if Sam was happy, and he’d be even happier being away from the prying eyes of civilians for a while, too. Out here on their own, they didn’t have to pretend to be anything other than what they were, hunters. The rare opportunity to let their guard down about it and just be themselves would be a rare treat. Maybe he could talk Sammy into playing cowboys and Indians again, like they used to when they were kids. It’d been years since the last time, after which Dad had made them both swear to not ever again play that anywhere that civilians were around, which was pretty much almost all the time.

Man, that last time had been fun, though. Up until one of the other motel guests starting freaking out after it became apparent that they’d been playing with a real compound bow and real guns. What else were they supposed to use, rocks and sticks? Dean still felt insulted to this day. He wasn’t stupid; he’d had the safety on, and the guns weren’t even loaded, for fuck’s sake. Like he’d ever aim a gun directly at his sister, loaded or not. Ok, fine, he had to admit that giving Sammy real arrows to use might not have been his best idea; her aim at 8 years-old wasn’t the greatest. But really, the arrow had just barely grazed Dean’s arm. And was it his or Sam’s fault that the lady screaming at them would pass out at the sight of blood? Hell no!

But that hadn’t stopped his dad from giving him and a wobbly-lipped Sammy a grim-faced non-stop ration of shit about it in the three minutes that it took him to tie a tourniquet around Dean’s arm with a bandanna to stop the bleeding, throw everything they owned from their room into the car, order Dean and Sam to get in the goddamned car and in no uncertain times to stay absolutely silent for at least the next 60 miles, (no Dean, not one damn word or I will tan your hide, sore arm and all), and hightail it out of there. Civilians, sheesh. Dean would be glad to not have to deal with them for an entire summer.

Setting aside the memory, he backed up to the couch and lowered Sam down onto it. “Flashlight,” he ordered. She handed it over, already half-asleep again. “Stay put for a sec,” he told her, and headed off to the breaker panel he had seen in the corner.

She peered around the cabin; everything seemed ok so far. If it wasn’t, Dean was there, and he would fix or kill anything that needed it. Then her dad would come in and put paid to anything that was left. She closed her eyes. _Just for a minute, _she thought, as she settled further into the comfy couch.

Dean opened the panel and flipped on what looked like the main breaker. He crossed his fingers, plugged in a lamp, and grinned in relief at the sudden soft golden glow. The kitchen was surprisingly decent; sturdy wooden table and chairs, some fairly recent appliances, and tap water than ran clear and didn’t smell funny. He plugged in the fridge, and at the hum, took the wedge out of the refrigerator door and closed it. He found a small closet that housed a hot water heater, turned the water valve to let it fill, and flipped it on. The bathroom, between the kitchen and the bedrooms, was small but clean, and seemed functional. 

Last stop were the two bedrooms, a queen in one, two twins in the other. No guesswork on who was going in which room. What a love-hate relationship he had with separate beds for him and Sammy. He hated sleeping apart from her, but whenever he and she did share a bed when their dad was around, the fear of doing something in his sleep that would give them away kept him up half the night. It was worth it, though, getting to hold his girl all night, safe in his arms, scent of her close and warm.

Once John left for a hunt, and he would undoubtedly leave on one, probably sooner rather than later, they could either share one of the twins, or maybe even push them together to make one big bed. In the meantime, they’d just have to suck it up and sleep separate. At least they’d be in the same room, although who knew how long their dad would still let that fly. John hadn’t said anything about it yet, but it was getting more and more obvious by the day that little Sammy wasn’t so little anymore. 

And boy howdy, didn’t Dean know it. Seemed like every day she was growing up, and up, and up, right before his eyes. It wasn’t just her body that was maturing, either. She’d been getting bolder by the day, trying to touch him all over when they were alone together. As much as he loved it, he wanted to keep things with him giving, and not taking, for as long as he could. He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold her off forever; she was a curious kid, and genius-level smart. He had to be careful about it; he didn’t want to do anything to make her feel rejected ever again. He’d learned that lesson well enough. 

It’s just that she was still so young, damn it. He was hers forever, but she could still change her mind someday, probably would. When that day came, at least she could look back knowing that she had only had a passive role, that he hadn’t made her into doing anything in return for him, and maybe he wouldn’t lose her in his life completely. Not only that, the idea of her doing anything like that for him just felt wrong. Sam was meant for better than that. Making her feel good, giving her what she wanted, what she asked for, what she needed? That was just another way of taking care of Sammy. But her returning the favor? Sure, the thought of it got him harder than algebra, but that was a line that he would hold off crossing with her for as long as he could. He couldn’t be selfish like that, to use her for his own needs, to take one more of the few bits of innocence she still had left. He knew this whole line of thinking was probably utter crap. He could barely explain it to himself, and even if he could figure out how to put it in words, even Sammy’s huge brain probably couldn’t make sense of it. All that being said, he couldn’t help how he felt about it.

It had him walking a very fine line lately, and he wasn’t exactly the poster boy for self-restraint to begin with. His solution was to try to clean the pipes as regularly as possible, jerk one out in the shower every morning that he was able to, so he could set aside his own needs as best as he could while he was taking care of his baby girl. Problem was, getting her off got him so revved up that sometimes he just couldn’t help getting dragged over the edge right along with her. She was just so responsive to everything they did. Every gasp and moan of hers, the way she writhed against him, would stoke the flames higher and higher, until his skin prickled with the need to come. He did his best (and a lot of times, failed) to hold off and go take care of himself afterwards on his own. It was always a little sad, jerking off alone afterwards in the bathroom, with his Sammy a stone’s throw away, spread out all flushed and sexy in a post-orgasm glow, the scent of her on his hands, the taste of her in his mouth. 

And now he was halfway to a stiffy, and Dad would be coming in with the rest of their stuff any minute. Great, just great. He thought about ghouls and grave-digging until he was presentable again, then went back into the living room to Sam, who was curled up on the couch, fast asleep. She wasn’t too big yet that he couldn’t still pick her up in a bridal carry and put her to bed, something deep inside him preening at the thought as he held her close. He put her down gently on the twin furthest from the door, and tugged the blankets up around her. His heart swelled as he looked down at her, her soft lips pursed in a bow, silky brown hair sleep-mussed. He tucked a strand behind her ear, brushed his lips against her brow, then straightened and headed back out into the living room, shutting the bedroom door softly behind him. 

He looked to the front door to see John carrying in some duffels and the weapons bag. John looked around the place, nodding to himself. To his relief, it was just like Tim had described, not some hunter’s tall tale. He looked at Dean, raised an eyebrow. 

Dean gave the expected sit-rep. “Electricity, water, and plumbing check out. Just have to air the place out, dust and sweep, and we should be good to go.”

John nodded. He looked over the doors and windows – seemed secure enough for now, but he’d check it over more thoroughly in the morning, make sure it was everything Tim had claimed. If nothing else, the cabin looked like it was in decent shape, a lot better than some other places they’d had to stay. Still, he’d bet his good machete that Samantha would find something about it that irritated her. He yawned widely, tired from the drive, tired of trying to figure out teenagers in general, and his daughter in particular.

“Long drive getting here, kiddo. Your old man is beat. Go to bed; in the morning we’ll take a look around, get situated.” John yawned again, and trudged off, briefly inspecting each of the rooms and putting some things away before heading into his own. He barely registered the musty sheets before nodding off.

~*~

Sam woke, once again in an unfamiliar room. She looked around until she saw Dean in the next bed, the steady rise and fall of his chest a metronome keeping the most important beat in her life. In the pale morning light, she could just make out the dusting of freckles across his nose, little cinnamon flecks dotting his creamy skin. One arm was stretched out towards her, like he was reaching for her even in his sleep. She lay there for another minute, drinking him in. He was perfect, and she’d never understand how he couldn’t see it. He was so strong, and smart, and just plain good. Yes, he had a goofy sense of humor, an unfortunate love of mullet rock, and the table manners of a drunk raccoon, there was no denying it. But under all that, at his core, he was like a hero from some epic saga: relentlessly fighting against evil, defending the good, protecting the weak, caring for those in need, always trying to do the right thing. If you could see souls, she was sure his would shine brighter than the sun. 

She got quietly out of bed, Dean shifting a little at the sound, then settling back down. She was sure he and Dad had gone through their usual checklists while she’d fallen asleep on the couch, and she wanted to let the both of them sleep for as long as possible. She shut the door softly behind her and looked around the cabin. It wasn’t so bad, considering. They’d certainly stayed in much worse places.

In the kitchen, she looked out the window into the back yard and woods beyond it. No telling what was out there in the way of wildlife, or maybe even monsters, but at least there wouldn’t be girls. Dean had toned it down a lot, but whenever Dad was around, he made sure to still flirt that way he always had. It came as easy and natural to him as breathing, and almost no one was immune to his charms.

It was only to keep Dad from looking too closely at the two of them, but still, it tugged at her heart, every time. Dean swore to her that it never went further than looking and talking, and Sam believed him. But it still stung to have to watch it happen, right in front of her, and not be able to do or say anything about it. She had to let it out somehow, or she would burst, so she’d let her agony out as anger and annoyance, rolling her eyes and griping about how gross his flirting was, even as the dog and pony show went on. A small act of rebellion, but you had to pick your battles. 

She knew Dean worried that she was pissed at him for the flirting, but she wasn’t; she was pissed at their Dad for it. It was their Dad’s fault that Dean had to act like this in front of him. Dad and his macho alpha-male big bad hunter drill sergeant bullshit routine that Dean had to play along with. She was getting tired of playing along, tired of Dad putting himself in harm’s way, sometimes putting them in harm’s way too, tired of living like two-bit criminals on the run, tired of how he treated them like soldiers instead of kids, tired of how he treated Dean like he was nothing but a soldier in his never-ending war, tired of Dean trying constantly to measure up to whatever insane bar Dad set, tired of not once being able to finish out an entire school year in one school, tired of their Dad plainly not caring about what she or Dean thought whenever their views didn’t jibe with his. 

On top of all of that, she was tired of the overwhelming unfairness of life in general, a condition that was common to every 13-year-old just stumbling over the threshold of adulthood. In her case, garden-variety teen angst was exacerbated by being the kid of an obsessed hunter who was constantly uprooting them, and further complicated by the fact that she was also head over heels in love with her big brother.

Underlying all of this was a little thrum of worry. She’d been growing more and more curious about sex in general, and sex with Dean in particular. He’d explored almost every square inch of her body, given her so much pleasure, and she wanted to do the same for him. But every time she tried to kiss him or touch him anywhere below his neck, and especially below his belt, he’d twist away, and then do something amazing with his hands or his mouth that made her forget what she had been trying to do in the first place.

She was burning with curiosity about how his body would react to her touch. She already knew what his penis looked like. Living in each other’s pockets the way they did, it was kind of inevitable that they both new what the other looked like, everywhere. How could they not, when they’d taken baths together when they were little, changed in shared motel rooms, and the countless number of times they’d had to stop and pee at the side of the road side by side. Not to mention that her brother seemed almost completely incapable of passing up an opportunity to write his name in the snow. If she was there, he’d try to write her name too, proud as an artist at a gallery opening.

She hadn’t had a single peek at him since they’d started fooling around, though. Dean had been weirdly modest since then. Once in a while she’d feel it, his hot hard length brushing against her as they moved together, or poking into her in the morning whenever they’d share a bed. But that was as close as she ever got. 

And she wanted to get closer. Much, much closer. She had a decent understanding of the male and female anatomy, and of the basic mechanics of sex (public libraries had a lot of information, if you knew where to look), but the dry texts she had come across were lacking in so many details, and of course, had nothing on Dean in particular. The average size of an erect penis was 6 inches long and 1 and a half inches wide, but what size was Dean’s? And what did it look like when it was hard? Blood filled up the penis to make it hard – did that mean they turned black and blue when that happened? Ejaculate came out of the end of it when guys came, but what was it like? Was it thick? Runny? Did it just dribble out, or did it shoot out like a squirt gun? What did his come taste like? Did it taste like Dean’s mouth did when he kissed her after going down on her? Wait, could she go down on him? Would he let her do that to him? Oh god, please let him let her do that to him. The thought of it, licking and sucking him there, made her mouth water, made her squirm in her seat. Would he be sensitive there like she was? Could guys come over and over again, the way she could? She was dying to figure out the answers to all of these questions, and more, but so far, she was still in the dark about so much. 

Maybe Dean was self-conscious about her seeing or touching him there because a guy’s stuff was just all out there, while her girl parts were all tucked away inside her nice and neat. Or maybe he was embarrassed because it was smaller than average, although she didn’t think that was it. She had no way to know for sure without a measuring tape (and there was no way Dean would sleep through that). From the occasional tent in his boxers she’d seen, or what she’d felt up against her, he seemed proportionate (if not more than). Or maybe (and this was usually the most likely explanation whenever she couldn’t figure something out about her brother) he was acting on some mysterious Dean-logic that only made sense to him. She’d give it a little more time, but eventually, she’d just flat-out ask him. Dean would usually rather be stapled to a tree than have a heart-to-heart, but if there was a problem, they’d learned the hard way that not talking about it only made it worse.

But that was all a problem that could be put off until after their dad inevitably left them here alone while he chased down another hunt. Putting the mystery of her big brother aside, she got out the instant coffee and put on a kettle to boil. Instant coffee was kind of crappy compared to the real thing, but it was also easy to make, and it stayed good for pretty much forever, even in the trunk of the Impala. Same for the oatmeal that either Dean or Dad had brought in and put on the counter. Probably Dad. Dean hated oatmeal. 

Woken by the sounds of someone moving around in the kitchen, and enticed by the scent of coffee, John woke up, took in the rest of the cabin in the daylight, and made his way into the kitchen. Sam handed him a mug of black coffee as she stirred oatmeal in a pot. She preferred a little milk in her coffee, but they had all three trained themselves to be able to drink it black. With the lives they led, you couldn't always count on having milk and sugar on hand.

Sam and John had a rare quiet and peaceful breakfast together, and halfway through, Dean stumbled in, yawning and scratching his belly.

He got himself a mug of coffee, and glared balefully at the contents of the pot.

“Oatmeal. Yuck. You know who else likes to eat oats? Horses, Sam. Horses eat oats. You’re eating horse food,” he groused as he scooped the last of it into a bowl for himself. He grabbed a spoon and took his seat next to his sister. 

“Better than MRE’s” John replied, shoveling his own oatmeal down without complaint. 

“Yeah, Dean,” Sammy chimed in.

“Quit it, brat,” he teased back.

Sam stuck out her oatmeal-coated tongue at her brother.

“Horse food,” John scoffed. Where did Dean come up with this stuff? “It’s good for you. You don’t want yours? I’ll finish it,” he teased Dean, who promptly guarded it with his arm like he was in prison. 

“I didn’t say I wasn’t gonna eat it, just saying, it ain’t exactly bacon and eggs.”

“Bacon and eggs are high in cholesterol, and cholesterol isn’t good for you, Dean,” Sam lectured.

“News flash, Sammy. Nothing that tastes good is good for you,” he ribbed back.

John stepped in before the morning could spiral out of control. “Quit it, both of you.” He eyed them both. “We’re going into town for a supply run. You know the drill. Finish your breakfast, get ready, and be in the car in 15, or deal with me picking out all the food on the grocery run. Bet they have plenty of oatmeal. Might even be on sale.”

“Yessir,” Dean garbled out while shoveling down the rest of his oatmeal so fast that it raised both John’s and Sam’s eyebrows, then tossed his bowl in the sink, narrowly avoiding breaking it. “Dibs on first shower!” he yelled, mouth still full of half-chewed oatmeal, bolting towards the bathroom before Sam could beat him to it.

Sam rolled her eyes while John closed his and prayed for the strength to survive both of his children’s teenage years. They both made short, but certainly more civil, work of their own bowls. 14 and a half minutes later, John was behind the wheel, engine running, as Sam and Dean both slid into the Impala. John eyed Dean’s carefully-gelled spikes, and Sam’s more utilitarian ponytail, huffed out a chuckle, and eased Baby towards town. 

Two hours later, they were back at the cabin and putting away the food and sundries they had stocked up on. John was going through the newspapers he had picked up in town, when his cell phone rang.

“Hey Bobby. Yeah, we got here just fine.” John tapped his pen on the newspaper. “Where?” He got up and went outside, still talking to Bobby. Sam and Dean looked at each other, knowing what that usually meant. 

“So soon?” Sam asked. “We just got here.”

“He can’t help it, Sam. Evil sons of bitches pop up and start hurting people, we can’t ignore it.” Dean tried to put a brave face on it, but deep down he thought it sucked just as much as his sister did. He’d been looking forward to hanging out up here for a while too, maybe find them a swimming hole, or take Sammy fishing. Didn’t even matter if they caught anything, just a nice quiet day by the water, side by side.

“Yeah, I know. I just thought we were going to be here for a while. Dad said all summer.” She huffed out a disappointed breath, mentally started going over packing everything up.

John came back in the cabin. “Bobby’s got a hunt, a day’s ride from here. Everyone else he could call is already tied up with other hunts.”

“What’s the hunt?” Dean asked.

“Ghouls.” John answered. “They usually feed from the dead, but it looks like one is starting to go after the living. Hopefully there’s only one. Even so, they’re strong, and fast, and they can look like anyone they have a piece of. They’re not an easy hunt.” He looked at his son. “You think you’re up to it?”

“Hell yeah!” Dean couldn’t wait. All their training, studying, preparing; you bet he was ready. That ghouls wouldn’t know what hit it.

“Bobby said it looks like there’s only the one, but know way to know for sure until we get there. One’s bad enough. I’m going to need you to keep your head on a swivel, son.”

“Of course, Dad,” Dean replied, thinking about ways to take out ghouls. Decapitation, or barring that, bashing their brains in. Hope rose as an idea formed. “Hey, are we going to use that bat with the barbed wire around it? Bet that would take ‘em out, real easy.” Dean begged with his eyes.

John was planning on using it himself, but he didn’t have the heart to disappoint his boy in this. “Sure thing, slugger.”

“But Dad, we just got here!” Sam almost yelled, exasperated. “What about all the supplies we just bought?”

“Well Samantha, unless you’re planning to live on air, you’re going to need food while we’re gone, so I thought I’d leave them here with you.”

The silence was thick and heavy as both of his children gaped at him.

“What?” he got back in stereo, Sam’s nearly a screech, and Dean’s just above a whisper.

“This isn’t just your run of the mill salt and burn, it’s a ghoul. It’s too dangerous for you, Samantha,” John explained, sure that they would both see reason.

“But not too dangerous for Dean?” Sam spit out.

“It’s different for your brother,” John replied, as he looked around and started to pack the few things he had set out.

“What the…” Sam sputtered. “Why? Because he’s a _boy_?” she demanded.

Dean winced internally, and braced for the blistering lecture on feminism and “the patriarchy” (which he was still a little unclear on, but took Sam’s word for it that it was a real thing and needed to be smashed) that his sister was no doubt about to unload onto their father. Then, somehow, beyond all logic, his dad managed to make it worse. 

“No, because he’s older, and bigger, and stronger.”

_Oh Jesus, here we go_, Dean thought. 

You could have heard a pin drop as Sam almost vibrated with anger, face red, fists clenched. If she could burn holes through people with the power of her mind, their dad would be nothing but a pile of ash right now. 

“I. Am. Just. As lethal. As either one of you. _You_ made sure of _that_, Dad.” Sam ground out through gritted teeth.

Yes, John had, and right now, he had no doubt that his daughter was capable of inflicting grievous bodily harm on pretty much anything in her path. In fact, right now she looked downright feral, and it was all directed straight at him. No matter. She’d be safer here, and Dean would concentrate better without him feeling the need to throw himself in front of whatever made the mistake of so much as looking cross-eyed at his sister. Sometimes he wondered if he’d done the right thing, making them so dependent on each other. Maybe this separation would be good for the both of them.

“We’re just going to leave her here, Dad? By herself?” John and Sam both turned and blinked at Dean’s soft voice, his uncharacteristic questioning of his father’s orders.

John stared back at Dean until his son looked down and away. The dregs of Dean’s excitement at stepping up from a hunter-in-training to a hunting partner drained away as his prime directive to protect Sam warred with his ingrained impulse to follow his dad’s orders. They were leaving his baby sister alone (alone!) in a cabin in the woods. This was crazy. No one to have her back, to keep the threats at bay, to look out for her. That was his job. How was he supposed to do his job if he wasn’t around her to do it? His dad wasn’t serious, they weren’t really going to leave her here, were they? His gut sank as he realized he already knew the answer to that. His mind raced, grasping for everything he could do before he and his dad left to make sure his sister was as safe as could be until they got back. 

Sam bristled at Dean’s deference, his shoulders hunched and his face blank as he stared at the floor. She swiveled her head back towards her father, and was about to light into him again when John cut her off.

“Look, you two. I picked this place for a reason. I know it’s not much to look at, but Tim knew what he was doing when he built this cabin, alright? It’s one of the safest places for a hunter that there is, like a supernatural safehouse. The land it’s on is thrice-blessed: by Pastor Jim, a voodoo priest, and the shaman of the nearby Kalispel tribe – the mountains and lakes around here are sacred to them. Tim said he carved every protection sigil he could find onto the backs of the boards he used to build the place. Those curved metal rails in the ground out front? An iron ring that surrounds the whole cabin. No ghost is setting so much as one foot in the yard. The painted lines around the doors, walls, and windows – see how they’re bumpy? Salt mixed into the paint. Every piece of metal inside of here is either iron or silver. There’s bags of rock salt and gallons of holy water in the utility closet. And like you said, Sam, you know perfectly well how to defend yourself, right?”

Sam opened her mouth to argue.

“Rhetorical question. Look, we’ll be back in a few days. A week, tops. We just bought enough food to last all three of us a month, and we’re leaving you salt, holy water, silver, iron, a big bag of weapons and plenty of ammo. There’s a fence out back Tim said we could use for target practice. I expect to see improvement on your aim by the time we get back.”

She seethed, teeth grinding, tears threatening to fall as she fought them back. “Fine!” she yelled, as she turned and stomped into the small bedroom. She slammed the door behind her, Dean flinching at the sound. 

John sighed, and followed her to the door. Dean was usually fine with following orders, but Sam was a completely different story. She reminded him a little too much of himself when he first joined up in the Marines. He’d had a hard time too, at first, having orders barked at him. Then he shipped out to ‘Nam, and realized fast that not following orders got you killed. There was no compromise, no coddling. You were either a good Marine, or you were a dead Marine. Sometimes, through no fault of your own, you ended up both. He’d seen too much of that, first-hand. There was no controlling fate; the only thing for it was to train, rely on your fellow soldiers, and follow orders.

He’d raised both of his kids to do the same, but at the end of the day, they weren’t just soldiers. They were still his kids, too, no matter how deadly he had trained them both to be. John sighed, and tried to smooth things over with his daughter.

“Sammy…” he began, staring at the closed door.

“It’s Sam.”

He counted to five silently. “Sam. This cabin is one of the safest places there is, and you’re old enough to be left on your own for a little while now. I wouldn’t leave you here if I didn’t think so. C’mon, kiddo. Open the door.”

After what seemed an age, the door creaked open, as Sammy delivered him the stink-eye to end all stink-eyes.

“You’ll be fine, Sam. If anything comes up that you can’t handle, you know who to call, and what to do to hold out until they can get here. Pastor Jim can be here in a day, and Bobby in half that.”

“Fine,” she bit out.

He wanted to bite it back at her, but held it in with the last threads of his frayed patience. She’d forgive him eventually, after she survived just fine on her own, and he and Dean came back safe and sound in a few days.

John moved towards the other bedroom and started to gather his things. He looked back over his shoulder to the living room, and his son still standing there, silent. “Pack up, Dean. Moving out in 30.”

“Yessir,” Dean responded woodenly. He moved into the smaller bedroom, shut the door, and started shoving things into his duffel.

Sam was on the bed, watching her brother. All the anger had run its course, leaving her only despondent. “I don’t want you to go, De.”

Her small, plaintive voice was a knife twisting into his guts. 

“I know, Sammy. I don’t want to leave you here, either.” It went against every instinct that he had. He wanted to squeeze her into his duffle, sneak her into the car, grab her and run away into the woods until Dad left. Better yet, soak her into his bones, tuck her into his heart, so she’d always be safe and close by no matter where Dad dragged him off to.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” she almost whispered. She never liked being apart from each other for too long, but something about this time was different, worse. She just couldn’t shake it. 

Dean crammed the last of his stuff in his duffel, and zipped it closed. He turned and hunkered down in front of her, took her hands in his, stared at his girl, memorizing each line and curve of her.

“I’ll call you every day to check up on you, and let you know we’re ok. Screw what Dad said – don’t leave this cabin while we’re gone. I mean it, Sam. Forget target practice – don’t waste the ammo, and don’t go outside. Keep the doors and windows shut, and keep the radio and tv low so you can hear what’s going on outside. No one should come up here, but if anyone does, don’t let anyone in, don’t even open the door. If you can, don’t even let them know you’re here. I’m gonna make sure we leave you with enough weapons and ammo to hold off a small army. Like dad said, there’s salt, holy water, and tons of silver and iron laying around here, and you have plenty of food, lots of stuff that’s easy to make. If the power goes out, there’s a bunch of canned and boxed stuff. If you set the place on fire trying to boil water, there’s a small fire extinguisher under the sink in the kitchen.” He chucked her chin as she gave a small laugh at that. “If it really hits the fan, you call Pastor Jim or Bobby. If either of them shows up here without me or dad calling you first to let you know that they’re coming, you keep them out and keep the door locked. Then call me or dad, then call their number to see if they pick up there, make sure it's not a shape-shifter. If no one picks up, keep them outside and make them go through all the tests, and if they pass them, let them in, but keep an eye on them and an escape route open, and keep a gun, knife, salt, holy water, and lockpick on you until I’m with you again. But you shouldn’t need to do any of that, because you’re gonna be fine here. Just fine. No one’s gonna come here, and nothing’s going to happen. You’ll probably be bored with how much nothing is going to go on around here, and then we’ll be back before you know it.”

Sam wasn’t sure which one of them Dean was trying to convince more. She nodded.

“Ok,” he said, standing. “Give me a hug before I head out. Gotta get my fill to last me a few days.”

Sam stood, and Dean pulled her into his arms. She burst into tears and clung to him as he gripped her to him tightly, kissed the top of her head, stroked her hair, rubbed her back as he fought back against the dampness gathering at the corners of his own eyes. 

“C’mon, Sammy. Shhh. It’s gonna be ok, sweetheart, I swear. You remember what I taught you. What Dad taught you. You’ll be ok. I promise.”

He pulled her back, wiped the tears from her face. “There’s my good girl. Kiss for luck?” he asked her. She nodded, looking up at him. Gently, he cupped her face in his hands, kissed her slowly, almost chastely. He smoothed her hair down, brought their foreheads together.

“Love you, Sammy” he whispered.

“Love you too, De,” she whispered back.

He hiked his duffel over his arm, and she followed him out to the front door. Their dad was at the trunk of the car, loading it up.

Dean stopped at the door, went over all the safety protocols with her again, made her repeat them back to him. Twice. He heard his dad’s sharp whistle from the car as he started her up. “Gotta go. Remember, call Pastor Jim or Bobby if we’re not back.”

“What do you mean, if you’re not back?” A shiver ran through her.

“In a week, I meant if we’re not back in a week, that’s all.” 

She gave him a long, searching look. “Be careful, Dean.”

“Hey, I’m always careful.” The corner of his mouth lifted in his trademark smirk, but they could both tell that his heart wasn’t completely in it.

“I’m serious. Don’t go showing off, like one of the guys in those action movies you love so much. You have nothing to prove, to him or to anyone else. Just come back safe.” _Come back to me,_ she pled with her eyes. 

Somehow Dean knew what she was saying, without having to say it. He always did. “I’ll always come back to you, Sammy. Promise,” he whispered in her ear as he hugged her goodbye.

~*~

John, for once, was true to his word about when they’d return. He and Dean were back at the cabin not three days later, cabin door slamming open as John staggered in under Dean’s weight. He got his son to the couch, Dean groaning as John laid him down on it and then helped swing his legs up onto it. 

Sam stared in shock, then ran to Dean’s side and grabbed his hand. “Dean! What happened? Where are you hurt? What’s wrong?” Not getting any answers, she looked up at her father. “What the hell happened?” she demanded of him.

“Sammy. Sam.” She snapped back to Dean, who was sweeping the room, dazed, until his eyes found hers. “Sammy, yer ok?”

She nodded, exasperated. There he was, laying there hurt, and still worried about her. Oh Jesus, where was he hurt? How bad was it? 

“Ok. ‘S good. ‘S ok. Back…see? Promised…” he stuttered out, drowsily. He tried to sit up, and suddenly paled, his eyes rolling back into his head as he promptly passed out.

“Dean!” Sam gasped, frantic.

John checked his vitals. “He’s ok, Sam. We have to keep him still so he can rest up and heal.” At the slight break in his voice, Sam landed a quick glance at her father before turning back to Dean.

Both of the elder Winchesters had the usual assorted post-hunt scratches and bruises, and their clothes were stiff in places with dried blood. Sam hoped darkly that most of it had belonged to whatever had done this to Dean, and that it had suffered brutally before it died. Her eyes widened when she saw his torn jeans, and through the torn denim, an ugly gash extending from just under Dean’s left hip to his knee, held together with what looked like John’s stitches.

John stared at them too. “There were three.”

“What?” That was definitely more than three stitches.

“There were three of them. Three ghouls. Not just the one.”

It had been going well. They had taken down what they thought had been the only ghoul. A tough fight, sure, but textbook. They had just started to sort through the area to get rid of the corpse and erase their presence when, with a scream, two more ghouls attacked. Turned out there was a shroud of them, three in all, who had all developed a taste for live prey. The two hunters split up against the pair. John watched, helpless to do anything to stop it, as the ghoul Dean was fighting stabbed down towards his son’s heart while Dean swung the bat up at the ghoul’s head like he was swinging for the fences. Dean had seen the ghoul’s move, and jumped back at the last minute, but it wasn’t enough. The ghoul missed it’s intended target, but still sliced Dean’s leg down to almost the bone. His boy’s eyes on his own, and Dean’s soft “Dad?” broke something in John.

He remembered yelling Dean’s name, and then things got a little fuzzy. He would probably never be sure of the exact sequence of events that followed, but after what seemed like both hours and seconds later, three headless ghouls were laying on the ground, and John was holding his boy’s leg together and trying to stop the bleeding. He made a tourniquet out of his own belt and a pen, and sewed the leg back together with 30-plus stitches while Dean was laid out on the back seat of the Impala, white-knuckled with pain but trying not to make a sound. His boy, his brave boy.

Sam could tell that John wasn’t even in the same room with them right now. She felt anger rising in her, and tried to tamp it down. She needed to stay focused on Dean, not on how her father had failed him. 

“He’ll be ok,” John said again, like he was trying to convince himself as much as Sam. “He’ll have to keep the weight off of that leg for a while, but he’ll be ok.”

“How. The hell. Did this happen.” Sam grit out.

“The intel was off.”

Anger flared in her again. “The intel was off? What the hell, Dad? Look at him! That’s your son! How many damn stitches did you have to put in him, huh? Jesus, Dad, he should be in a hospital! You should have brought him to a hospital. Or I dunno, maybe not have let this happen in the first place!”

“We did the best we could!” he snapped back at her, then all the fight went out of him as he collapsed into the nearby chair. He had his own minor injuries, and was exhausted from the hunt, and from worry over his boy, who came closer than John could ever admit to himself to being seriously hurt. One inch closer to the femoral artery…no. Best to not even think of it. Dean was ok, he was going to be fine. Any other outcome was unthinkable. They were Winchesters. They’d be fine. He swiped a grimy hand over his face, his son’s rust-red dried blood flaking off his fingers. 

Sam saw the dark rings under her dad’s eyes, the tremble in his hand. Now that she really looked at him, she could see he was running on fumes, and that his tough-guy veneer was showing cracks. Her anger slowly faded as she realized just how gutted her Dad was about Dean too. She went into the bathroom, and came back with two warm, wet washcloths. She handed one silently to John. She used the other to gently clean the grime, sweat, and blood off of Dean the best she was able, then did what she could to make him as comfortable as possible: cut off his ruined jeans, gently eased his overshirts off of him, propped a soft pillow under his head, and pulled the blanket laying across the back of the sofa down over him.

John dug a foil packet of painkillers and a bottle of antibiotics out of his pocket, brought them over and put them down on the coffee table. He went into the kitchen, and came back out with a glass of water and a box of saltines.

“Two of the yellow ones, for pain,” he held up the foil packet, “every six hours. Last dose was,” he looked at his watch,” two hours ago. One of the antibiotics every 8 hours. Last dose was 4 hours ago. Make him take both of them with food, a couple of crackers at least. And lots of water, he lost a lot of…a lot of blood.” John stood up, wavering slightly on his feet. “You got him, Sam?”

“I got him, Dad. Go get some rest.”

John nodded blearily and dragged himself into his room. He kicked off his boots, jacket, and jeans, and was out almost before his head hit the pillow.

Sam turned back to her brother, laying there pale and still. “Hear that, big brother? I got you. You just rest up. Gonna take care of you now, just like you always take care of me.” She tucked the blanket closer around him, put the back of her hand against his forehead. No fever, good. “That’s my job, right? Take care of my pain in the ass big brother.”

Throughout the afternoon as John slept, she kept watch over her brother. She followed their standard injury protocol they’d been drilled in: pillow under Dean’s legs for better circulation, kept an eye on his breathing and pulse rate, and watched for fever, for signs of shock. She woke him for his pills, helped him take them, settled him back down. If she happened to kiss his forehead, his cheeks, his hands, in between these tasks, that was nobody’s business but her own.

~*~

The sun was just setting as John startled awake, confused about where he was for a moment until it all came rushing back in. He dragged himself out of bed, and made a beeline for the couch.

“How’s he doing?”

“Fine.” The “no thanks to you” was implied.

“He take his pills?”

“Yes.”

_Cold shoulder it is, then,_ John thought, as he grabbed a change of clothes and hit the shower. The silent treatment was at least better than what he had expected: Sam ripping up one side of him and down the other. She probably held off laying into him only to avoid waking Dean. If it kept the peace, John would take what he could get.

The shower did him some good, just getting the stink of dead ghoul off of himself alone was a relief. He watched the rivulets of gore and blood as they swirled down into the drain. How much of it belonged to the ghouls? How much was Dean’s? He pushed that thought down, finished cleaning up, got dressed, and headed back into the living room.

“I’m heading into town. Need to restock the first aid supplies, pick up some other stuff. Want anything?” he asked his daughter.

“No.”

John nodded, grabbed his jacket, and left. He found a bar on the highway and hustled up a few hundred, then stopped at the small drug store/food market on his way back. He stocked up on bandages _(his son’s blood had soaked through all of them) _and other supplies for the first aid kit that he’d used up _(from sewing his son back together)_. He picked out some frozen pizzas and burgers, a few packages of bacon, and a couple of steaks for Dean _(he needed to build his iron back up after losing that much blood)_.

After quick consideration, he added some fresh fruit and vegetables for Samantha to his cart. It didn’t hurt to extend a bit of an olive branch, and maybe she’d be able to talk Dean into eating some of them, too. If anyone could do that, it would be Sam. She had her big brother wrapped firmly around her finger, and truth be told, Dean seemed pretty content there. Which was just as well, as John had no doubt that there was more pain and hardship to come, for all of them, until that yellow-eyed monster was rotting in hell. Dean and Samantha were going to need each other, especially if John didn’t make it, which he put fair odds on. _If it meant taking the murdering bastard out with me, it would be well worth it_, he thought. The ringing of his phone pulled his thoughts away. 

~*~

John walked back into the cabin weighed down with grocery bags, which Sam eyed with suspicion. 

“What’s all that?” she asked, nodding at the bags John was bringing into the kitchen.

“Caleb called,” John answered, setting the bags down and coming back into the living room.

“And?” Sam asked frostily.

“He has a lead on what killed your mother.”

Sam just stared at John, and then she realized what this meant. “Oh, you have _got _to be shitting me.”

“Language, Sam. I can’t just ignore a lead like this, you know that. I’ve got to check it out.”

John looked down at Dean, checked his vitals. He was already looking a little better under Sam’s careful tending.

“When?” Sam demanded.

“Now.”

“Now.” Sam couldn’t believe it. “You’re leaving now.” She whirled around, stared daggers up at him. “Dean’s not even awake yet, and he can’t even walk. He’s not just some grunt, Dad, he’s your _son_!”

“Dammit, Sam, I _know_ that!” The guilt over Dean’s injury and the heat of Sam’s anger stung deep. _Shove it down, do the job, keep putting one foot in front of the other, soldier, until you rid the world of that evil son of a bitch. You can coddle them both all you want after it’s over, but for now, you’ve got work to do. _He took a calming breath and locked it all down. Everything they were doing depended on him keeping his shit together. He didn’t have the luxury of falling apart, especially in front of his kids. “Dean is young, and he’s strong. He’ll be on his feet again in no time, and he has you to look out for him until then.”

“I can’t believe this,” Sam fumed. “How long are you going to be gone?”

“No way to know for sure, you know that. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Probably no more than a week or two.”

Which meant probably more like a month. Sam stared at her father, her anger and disappointment in him mirrored by his own guilt, then she turned back to Dean.

“Here.” He held out the stack of bills to her that he had just hustled. He could make more out on the road. Sam ignored it, ignored him. He put it down on the coffee table, instead. “That should hold you both until I get back.”

When did his daughter become capable of such cold, heavy silences? If this was just the beginning of what her teen years promised, he wasn’t sure how any of them were going to survive them. 

He cleared his throat. “You’re stocked up on enough of everything to last you both two months or more. You shouldn’t have to leave here before I get back. You have Bobby and Pastor Jim’s number if you need them.”

Sam nodded, and kept her face turned away from his. She kept her focus on Dean, like John had already been forgotten.

~*~

Dean gradually became more alert as his pain meds were reduced. He asked her once, “Dad?” Sam had looked down and away when she replied “Hunt came up,” but she still caught the momentary flare of disappointment in his eyes.

It was quickly followed by a mirthless chuckle from him. “Yeah, of course. Monsters ain’t gonna take a break just ‘cause my gimpy ass is laid up. Besides, we got the whole place to ourselves now, right? Awesome.”

It was a few days before he could put any weight on his bum leg at all. Sam had gone outside with a hatchet and hacked away at the younger trees out back until she produced a makeshift crutch for him. He’d heard her out there, screaming and crying as she butchered several poor saplings that had the misfortune of being the ones closest to the cabin. He got it, sometimes you just had to beat the shit out of some inanimate object when the fear, anger, or grief got to be too much. If he could swing a hatchet without falling over and hurting himself worse than he already was, he’d be out there abusing trees right along with her.

It was bad enough that he had been so stupid as to get injured like this and have to be sidelined, but poor Sam having to be his nursemaid like this…Jesus. Some fucking hunter he was. He couldn’t make it through one measly hunt intact. Dad never came back this banged up. He was damn near useless right now, to his dad, to himself, and to Sam. How was he supposed to watch out for Sammy when he could barely stand? Fucking useless. When he healed up, he’d just have to train that much harder, be that much faster and stronger, try to be smarter.

He kept those thoughts to himself, though. Sam had thrown herself full-force into being his caretaker. He appreciated her efforts, and didn’t have the heart to tell her that they were squandered on someone who didn’t really deserve them. She worked so hard, took such good care of him. He barely had to think of something he needed, and his little sister was there and already taking care of it. She fluffed his pillows, made sure he took his pills on time, checked his vitals, helped him when he had to move, made him food. She even cooked up some of the bacon for him for a BLT, (well, a Dean Winchester BLT, which was _very _light on the L, _very _light on the T…ok fine, it was basically a bacon sandwich, so sue him) without burning down the kitchen. She’d pushed the two twin beds together in their room. That way, she could sleep right next to him in case he needed anything, but he still had enough room for him to stretch out and be comfortable. Whenever he got bored with the tv, or started to go stir-crazy in general, she helped him out to one of the chairs on the front porch or back porch, propped his leg up on another cushioned chair, and they’d play 5 card draw, betting with toothpicks, or rummy 500, or she would read to him. 

Bottom-line, she mother-henned him to within an inch of his life. He quietly basked in being doted on like that, something he hadn’t experienced since he was four. He wondered if this was what Sam felt like when he took care of her. He hoped so. He hoped it made her feel this loved, this cared for. Still, he grumbled a little every chance he got about how much it sucked to be laid up like this; it helped cover up his guilt for all the things she had to do for him because he couldn’t do them himself. She shouldn’t have had to do any of it. It was supposed to be his job to take care of his little sister, not the other way around.

And he could tell it was taking its toll on her. The faint dark smudges under her eyes couldn’t escape his notice. His sister was stronger than your average pre-teen girl, but he wasn’t a small guy, and it wasn’t easy for her to prop him up every time he had to move around. Even with the makeshift crutch she’d cut for him, Sam still had to help him up, help him around, help him do everything. For fuck’s sake, she shouldn’t have to wear herself out like this over him.

“I shouldn’t have to what?” she asked.

Crap. He’d said that last part out loud. “It’s just, you know. Helping me around like this, waiting on me hand and foot. You shouldn’t have to. It’s my job to take care of you.”

She put down her book, and stared at him. “And what do you think my job is?”

“What?” He looked completely stumped by this question.

She came over to the couch, perched on the edge of it next to him. She took his hand in hers, and stared into his eyes so that he could see the truth of it when she told him, “You sacrifice everything for me, Dean. Don’t you think I’d do the same for you? You’re my big brother. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

His eyes leaked a little at the corners. Damn dusty old cabin. He cleared his throat, settled back, and let his sister do her self-appointed job. She got her book, scooted him down a little on the couch, settled in behind him, and read to him for the rest of the afternoon.

~*~

It’d been just over a week, and with Sam’s attention and care, Dean was well on his way to a full recovery. The stitches were healing up nicely, flesh slowly knitting back together with their help, and he was even able to put a little bit of weight on that leg for a few minutes at a time.

Sam was checking the wound again. “Looking a lot better. The stitches can probably come out soon. Probably ok to get them wet. Which means: time for you to take a shower, big brother. C’mon, I’ll help you.”

Gears crashed together in Dean’s mind. Sam helping him in the shower was just absolutely not going to happen. He’d had zero action for almost two weeks, and there was no way he’d be able to make it through that without popping a massive boner. He was halfway to a chubby at just the thought of him naked and wet in the shower, with Sam in there right next to him. _Graveyards. Hex bags. Grannie panties. Panties. Shit. That backfired. What do civilians think about? That’s gotta be boring as shit, it’s gotta work. Ok…baseball. Taxes. Never filed taxes in my life. Probably never will. Wonder if ammo would be deductible? _

“Nah, I’m fine with the whore’s baths.” He was pretty sure that came out as casually as he had meant to say it.

“Dean! Don’t say ‘whore’, that’s just rude. They’re ‘sex workers’. And furthermore, you shouldn’t assume they don’t bathe thoroughly.” This was accompanied by Bitchface #10 _(you’re being inappropriate, Dean)._

“That’s not why they call it…” he tried, then thought better of it and abandoned that line of thinking.

Luckily, Sam cut him off anyway. “And honestly? You’re not fine with those. It’s been a week, and you, brother, are stinking up the joint. If there was a country of stink, you’d be the president. Limburger cheese thinks you’re stinky. If you were a Mexican wrestler, your name would be El Stinko. I mean…”

“Wow, hilarious. Har dee har har.” Dean took a stealthy whiff, and ok, fine, his sister wasn’t actually wrong. “Fine. I’ll take a shower, but I don’t need any help.”

“You don’t…” He could tell she was trying for his sake to not point out how ridiculous that statement was, but her face was edging into Bitchface #3 (_you’re being ridiculous, Dean). _

She took a breath. “Ok, fine, I’ll bite. Just how are you going to manage moving around in a wet tub when you can barely move around out here with both me _and_ a crutch?”

He thought long and hard (_heh heh, long and hard. Jesus Christ, Winchester – focus!_). Sam was right, he couldn’t stay standing up for that long on his own, and trying to move around in a slippery wet tub with his still gimpy leg was just not going to work. Hell, just getting in and out of the tub would involve some kind of complicated maneuver. Then once he was in, it was going to be a bitch to try to wash himself, keep the stitches from getting completely soaked, and keep himself upright. Maybe if he put a kitchen chair inside the tub…except all the chairs here were wooden and the water would ruin it. Not a cool way to repay dad’s hunting buddy for letting them use his place. Maybe if he just sat on the edge of the tub…but then he wouldn’t be able to reach everywhere with the water, which would probably also get all over the floor.

Sam just stood there calmly, letting him figure it out on his own. 

“No, Sam.”

“Yes, Dean. You need a shower. You need help to take that shower. It’s my job to help you, remember?”

“Yeah, but…”

“What happens if you fall while you’re in there, crack your head, or tear open your stitches? We have no car and we’re stuck out in the middle of nowhere. We can’t risk it. Please, let me help you.”

Jesus, those puppy eyes were lethal. Fine. He could do this. He could definitely do this. Mind over matter. _Improvise, adapt, overcome._ He was going to let her help him take a shower, and he was not going to get a raging hard-on, and everything was going to be fine. Hunky freakin’ dory. 

“Ok, Nurse Ratched, let’s de-stinkify me.” She helped him into the bathroom, and to shrug off his t-shirt and shuck his jeans. He stood there in his boxers while she turned on the water and adjusted the temperature.

“C’mon, Stinky. Drop the drawers so we can get on with it.”

“Or I could just leave them on, no big deal,” he replied, hopefully more nonchalantly than he felt. He looked at a corner of the sink, willing her to just go with it. No such luck. 

“Why are you being a weirdo about this?” Her voice came from somewhere different than she had just been and he made the mistake of looking up and he was looking at her and sweet baby Jesus on a pogo stick. There she was, standing in the shower, water spraying down over her, naked and wet, telling him to get in there with her. _His sister was naked and wet in the shower and wanting him to get naked and wet in the shower with her. _His brain kept going, on repeat: _naked and wet, naked and wet._

“You’re a weirdo, you…weirdo,” he said, lamely.

Ok. He could do this. He was going to do this, and he definitely could and would do this. He stared at a spot on the wall and silently recited the steps to field strip and reassemble their rifle until his stiffening dick started obeying him again. He couldn’t stall any further. _Just get in there, get clean, and get out. _He hobbled closer to the tub, leaned the crutch against the wall, dropped his boxers, and let her help him get carefully into the tub. 

“That’s it. Get your stinky bow-legs in here. Careful. Ok, there we go. See? Easy peasy.”

“Lemon squeezy.”

He was in the shower with his sister, facing her, one hand braced on her shoulder, one hand hanging on to the shower curtain rod, his back to the water. He stared at the tiles above her head, and started counting them. Loudly. In time to “Seek and Destroy”. 

“Ok, first things first. Pass me the shampoo.” When did his little sister become so bossy?

He held out the bottle to her, watched her squirt some out into her hand. _Oh fuck. _He slapped his eyes back to the shower wall. Tiles. Lots of tiles. So many tiles. Better start over with the counting.

“Ok, tip your head back a little and get your hair wet. Ok, now turn back around again. Hang onto the curtain rod.” She helped him turn away from her, and she started massaging the shampoo into his hair.

Ok, that was actually pretty awesome. He couldn’t remember the last time someone else washed his hair for him, and he was pretty sure it hadn’t ever been like this. This was more like a scalp massage, slow, and thorough, her nails scritching through his hair, sending chills up his spine. Holy shit. The tension he had been holding since he got sliced up softened, started to melt away.

“Bend your head forward.”

He bent forward carefully, and held his head under the spray until the water ran clear.

She stayed behind him, grabbed the bar of soap, and started lathering him up: neck, shoulders, arms. A pass under his arms had him letting out what could only be called a manly chuckle and definitely not a high-pitched giggle.

“I wasn’t trying to tickle you, I swear.”

“Oh sure, Tickle McTickleson. Here, give it,” he ordered, holding his hand out.

He carefully soaped and rinsed one pit, then the other, _(ok, Sam had a point, that stink was enough to knock over a buffalo)_, then handed the soap back to her. 

She washed his shoulders and back, slowly, being especially careful around his healing scrapes and bruises. She moved in closer, her body slipping and sliding up against his. Her hands smoothed the sudsy lather over his chest, over his nipples, down his belly, inched down his hips, lower….

“Sam.” He put a hand over her wrist, stopping her from moving further down. She let out a frustrated huff, but moved on to soaping up his legs, careful around the stitches, and straightened back up. She soaped up her hands again and rubbed them over his butt, impishly ran a hand through his crease, giggling as he absolutely did not yelp. “Sam!”

She washed his back again in apology, and moved up closer behind him again. Only one spot left. She moved her hands around to his belly, her slippery hands moving lower, and lower…

Again, he stopped her hands. She stiffened, feeling awkward all of a sudden. 

“Dean. You don’t want me to touch you there? Like, ever?” She was quiet for a minute. “Is it…is it me?”

“No! No, Sam. You’re perfect. It’s not…you just, I’m ok, you don’t have to...do that.”

Sam tried to parse out exactly what he meant. _Have to, _he’d said. Wait…oh no. “Dean,” she said carefully, slowly. “Do _you_ feel like _you _have to? With me?”

Shit, he was making this worse. “God no, of course not. I love it, I love everything we do, you gotta know that, right? It’s just, _you _don’t have to, you know? It’s enough, just me doing that for you. I don’t, you don’t have to...you know?” 

And now he was thinking of her doing exactly that, and his traitorous cock was hanging thick and heavy between his legs, twitching every so often as it started standing at attention. _Houston, we have a problem. _Jesus, he had to not think about his dick being a rocket about to go off, or it probably freaking would. He frantically starting counting tiles again. _Not working. _He started with the field stripping again, but that seemed to have lost its power too. _C’mon, Dean. Think of boring shit, gross shit, annoying shit…waiting in lines, morgues, crappy coffee…_

“But I _want _to make you feel good too, De. Just like you do for me. Can I, please?”

What had he been thinking about? Because all he could think about now was his baby sister, slippery against his back, running her slick hands all over him, asking him, no, begging him, to let her run those slick little hands all over his cock. Which was now standing completely at attention, hard and thick, twitching like it was sitting up and begging for her touch.

“Sammy…” He could actually _feel_ the puppy eyes boring into his back. God, how did she do that? He was just trying to do the right thing here. Had to keep Sammy safe, even from him. Especially from him. 

“You make me feel so good, all the time. I just want to do that for you, too. Why don’t you want me to?”

He would rather face down another ghoul than have this conversation, especially like this, bare-assed and in the shower, her hands on him…but he knew it couldn’t be put off any longer. “It just feels like it’s, I dunno, wrong.”

“Wrong.” She drew her hands back. “Wrong how?” Her head spun with the possibility that maybe he saw this in a whole different light than she thought. If he thought it was wrong for her to do it, did he feel like it was wrong for him too, but he did it anyway? Dean never put himself first, not ever, not for the important stuff. Was she just taking that for granted, taking _him_ for granted? Taking advantage of how willing he was to set his own feelings aside, just to make her happy?

“Like, you shouldn’t have to do anything like that for me. To me. For me. It’s like…I’d be taking something from you, instead of giving something to you.” God, he was the worst at trying to explain the shit that went on in his head. He could barely make sense of it to himself most of the time, it was easier to just…not, just act on instinct and not think too deeply about any of it. But not talking things out caused bigger problems, they both knew that now. He forged on ahead, one clumsy foot after another. “Right now, you still haven’t really done anything. I haven’t taken that from you. For you to…you shouldn’t have to…well, it would be selfish,” he trailed off.

Sam hugged him from behind while she tried to decipher Dean’s unique brand of logic, make sure she really understood what he was trying to say before responding. Most people thought Dean was prettier than he was smart, but most people were asshats. Her brother was brilliant in his own way, making intuitive connections that others could never hope to. You just had to be fluent in Dean, and fortunately, she’d been studying that particular language her whole life. 

“So, I think it’s kind of like how you didn’t like the idea of me taking care of you this past week at first. You thought I shouldn’t have to, but Dean, I didn’t feel like I _had_ to. I _wanted_ to, and it made me feel so good to be able to do that for you. To take care of you for once, the way you always take care of me. This is like that, too. I want to make you feel as amazing as you make me feel.”

Dean bit back a groan at the thought of it, his breath came faster at the thought of her hands on him, wrapped around his rock-hard dick, squeezing, fondling, stroking…he was pretty sure he could come just thinking about it, not a hand on him, not even his own. 

“I want to touch you, put my hands on you, on your cock, Dean. I think about it all the time lately, and I’m dying to find out what it’s like, what it looks like, what it feels like. I want to make you hard, want to make you come, big brother.” He gasped at her brazen words, cock twitching, pre-come beading at the tip.

“It wouldn’t be you taking, it would be you giving, you letting me.” She hugged him a little harder, as her voice grew softer. “But…if you really don’t want me to, or just not yet, then ok. I don’t want to do anything you don’t really want to, just because I want it. You’ve never done that to me, and I know you never would. It’s just, touching you, making you feel good, I think it would make me feel good, too, like it does for you. I mean, we’re in this together, right? It’s not just one-sided?”

He drew her arms up around himself tighter and hugged her to him. “Not for me, it’s not.”

“Ok, well, not for me either.” And just because she still had her own lingering insecurities, she had to ask. “You mean it though? You don’t kiss me, touch me, just because I want you to, right? You like it too? For yourself?”

“God, baby girl, yes. Fucking love it. Watching you get off, making you come, it’s the hottest thing ever. And I’m happy with just that. I don’t need anything more. It should be about you, Sam. Not me. You’re worth more than that.”

She slid closer to him, rubbing up against him like a cat as she held him tight. “You’re worth just as much as me. More.”

He scoffed at that, and she vowed to herself then and there to work as hard as she could, for the rest of her life if she had to, until he believed that he was worthy of every good thing, that he deserved just as much, if not more, than her, than everyone else. 

“Will you let me touch you, De? Please?”

At her plaintive note, his resolve, already fading, dissolved and floated away with the clouds of heat billowing out of the shower.

“Okay, Sammy. Okay. But if you don’t like it, if you want to stop, you can, whenever you want, no matter what.”

“And if you want me to stop, just say so and I will. And…I don’t really know what I’m doing here, so if I do something wrong, or I hurt you, you have to tell me, ok?”

He nodded shakily, and she slid her slippery hands down the creases of his thighs, ran her fingers over the thatch of hair between them, the wiry-looking curls much softer than she’d expected. She ran her fingers lightly over his tightening balls, his hard shaft, the head and the slit at the tip of it, learning the shape of him and what felt good to him. 

He’d accuse her of teasing him, except he knew she wasn’t. She was really just exploring something new, and taking her time. He could blow just from this, but fought it back so that she could just let her hands wander, uninterrupted. Her felt her soapy body sliding up against his back, tight buds of her nipples raking across him, her lightly furred bush rubbing against his butt, watched her small, slender hands explore his cock with tentative touches that grew slowly bolder. He let out a moan when she ran a finger lightly around the head, rubbed the sensitive bundle of nerves just beneath, making him hiss in a breath.

“Does that feel good?” She was amazed by the velvet steel of him. How something could be so soft, and so hard, all at the same time was beyond her. She ran her finger lightly over that spot again, over and over, fisting his length loosely with her other hand.

“Oh fuck…yeah, feels good. Go a little tighter.” He groaned as her hand squeezed tighter around his shaft. “So good. Fuck.”

“Does it get like this every time? Hard like this?”

He looked down and almost whimpered at the sight of his sister’s hands clutched around his cock. “Yeah. Yes. Hard enough to pound nails. Christ, right there, just like that.”

He wondered vaguely if it was dangerous to be this hard.

“Can I see you, De? I want to see.”

“Yeah, Sammy. Anything. Anything you want, sweetheart.”

“Ok, hang on.” She helped turn him carefully, so he was facing the wall, and he reached up to grab onto the shower head pipe. She propped herself under his other shoulder, and reached for him again.

“Oh, it’s so pretty. All dark pink, not black and blue at all.” And it was definitely above average.

“Black and blue? What, you think it goes out bare-knuckle brawling while I’m asleep? Oh shit,” he breathed out, as she gave a little twist at the top, just the way he liked it.

“No, but it swells up with blood when it gets hard, right? So, I thought maybe it would look like a bruise. It was stupid, I guess.”

Why the fuck were they talking about bruises? No, this was good. Something else he could concentrate on instead of busting his nut in about 5 seconds. He wanted to make this last for her. 

“Nah, not stupid. Don’t say that. Smartest person I know. So fucking smart. So good. Oh god, that’s so good. So fucking good for me. Sam…Sammy…”

Now that she could see what she was doing, how he was reacting to it, it was even better, even hotter. She felt that familiar tightening in her belly as she ran her hand over his cock. Now she understood why Dean loved touching her so much. It was so damn sexy, his head tilted back, eyes heavy lidded, mouth open and panting. Suddenly, all she wanted to do is make him come, she had to see it, had to watch him come just from her touch. The idea that she could do that for him, it was kind of…powerful, in a way. That she could even do that, make his body respond that way, got her even hotter, and she rubbed up against him, close as she could get, trying to get some friction for herself on her aching clit. Her nipples were tight little buds, and Dean’s were, too. 

“De, when you touch yourself, how do you do it? Show me?”

Her big brother almost growled, then took himself in hand, looking at her, staring at her pink lips, her hard little cherry stone nipples. He gave himself a few long, slow strokes, a little twist at the end, hitting the sensitive nerves of his frenulum on the way back down. “Like this. Not too hard, not too tight. Not yet. Just smooth, slow, steady.”

His movements stuttered as she put her smaller hand over his, moved with him to get the rhythm. She pushed his hand out of the way gently, then it was just her hand on him. Her hand, so small, stroking his cock up and down, rubbing the head just the way he liked. 

“Like this?”

“Oh fuck, Sammy. Yeah, just like that.”

She rested her head against his chest, and did something at the base of his cock on the downstroke that made him see stars.

“Oh shit. Fuck. That. Do that again. Jesus, your hand on me, fuck, feels so fucking good.”

He started thrusting into her soapy fist, faster and faster. “Fucking your tight little hand, so good. Jesus,” he ground out. “Gonna make me come so hard, sweetheart. Huge fucking load. All for you.” He grunted as he tipped closer and closer to the edge, about to fall over it. “Oh fuck, baby girl…gonna…”

“Yeah, Dean. Come for me, big brother.” She licked against his nipple as she fisted his cock hard and fast.

His eyes rolled back in his head as he locked up for a second, then came so hard he thought he might die from the pleasure of it. He yelled out, for once not having to worry about keeping his voice down. His knee buckled a little, and she held him up as his throbbing cock pulsed jet after jet of thick pearly come against the tiles, and over her hand.

His warm come coated her fingertips, and she lifted them up to her lips. Dean tasted her all the time, always said how much he loved it. Maybe she’d love how he tasted just as much.

Aftershocks were still rocking through him as he watched her. He wanted to say no, but his eyes said yes, wide and dilated with lust as she brought one come-covered finger to her open mouth, darted her pink tongue out and licked a little off, then put her fingertip in her mouth and sucked it clean. _Oh Jesus she’s putting my come in her mouth she’s licking my come off her finger she’s got my come in her mouth. _His cock twitched again at the sight.

It was odd, not like anything else she’d ever tasted. A little bitter, but not bad. She could definitely get used to it, kind of wanted to.

Dean’s brain and mouth were finally come back online. “Sammy…holy shit.”

Sam noticed his how his legs were shaking. She shut off the rapidly cooling water, and helped him out, sat him on the edge of the tub and first toweled him dry, then herself.

“Bed?” she asked.

“Bed,” he answered, glad for her help in getting there because holy shit, he was pretty sure she had just pumped most of his brain cells out through his dick a few minutes ago.

She got him settled, then laid down against him on his good side, wrapped themselves around each other in the warm, lazy sunshine. He leaned down and licked her lower lip, sucked on it a little until it plumped up, licked his way into her mouth. She slid up against him, rubbing her mound against his hip, moaned at the pressure.

She ran her hands all over him. Now that it was allowed, she couldn’t get enough of touching him. She slid her hand down his neck, rubbed over his nipples, watched them tighten.

“Shit, yeah. You do things to me I didn’t even know I liked, you know that? No one’s ever touched me there. Feels so good, sweetheart.”

A thrill ran through her at that. “Like making you feel good, De.” She propped herself up on one elbow and leaned over his chest, looked up at him. “I want to try something, ok?”

“Anything.”

She leaned down and licked over his nipple again, lathing the rough little nub with her tongue, little kitten licks, feeling Dean start to shift and moan. She reached over to his other hard bud, lightly pinched it and twisted it, like she liked him to do to her, watching him gasp in response. She opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around the hard bud of his nipple, latched on and gently suckled it.

“Oh shit…Christ! Feels so good. Fuck…” his surprised voice trailed off as he succumbed to this new sensation, overwhelmed. How had he never known about this before? Fucking amazing. “God, baby, you’re making me hard again.”

Sam ran her hand down lower, over his stiffening cock, whimpered when she got her hands on it. Felt it chub up more under her touch. She slid her leg over his, rubbed her clit up against his hip in time with his thrusts up into her fist. 

“You like that, baby? Touching me, making me feel so good? Yeah, there. Oh fuck. Liked making big brother come, huh? I liked it too. God, you drive me fucking crazy.” 

Her brother’s wicked mouth was going to be the death of her.

“So hot for it, little sister all revved up. Bet you’re dripping.” He ran a hand down through her folds, wet slippery sound. She cried out as he rubbed over her clit, already swollen with desire.

“Dean, wait.”

He stopped cold. “What? You ok?” The haze lifted from him a little as he looked down at her.

“Yeah. Just...I want to try something.” She looked up at him, shy all of a sudden.

“Anything, honey. What do you want? What do you need me to do?”

“Just lay there, ok?” He nodded. 

She straightened so she was sitting up next to him, then carefully swung her leg over him so she hovered over him, and put her hands on his shoulders, looking down between their bodies.

“Sam?” he asked, alarm bells ringing in the back of his head. He’d said 'anything', but if she meant to…no, she couldn’t be thinking that. Could she? Christ, the thought of it, of being inside his girl. His mouth went dry, and a spurt of pre-come shot out of the tip of his rock-hard cock. He grabbed her hips. “What are you doing, Sammy?”

“I just want to rub against you. Wanted to feel you against me. Is that…is that ok?” She was starting to shrink back a little.

“Fuck,” he blew out the breath he had been holding in relief, “of course, sweetheart.” He pulled her a little closer. “Come on up here, a little higher. Yeah, that’s it.”

He guided her as she lowered herself down, slowly and carefully, until she was straddled over him, her pussy directly against the shaft of his thick cock. _Warmwetsoft _was all he could think as she rubbed her dripping core against his dick, up and down, over and over.

He was so hard against her. It felt so good, like when he used his fingers on her, or his tongue, but better; softer and harder at the same time. And her brother looked like a dream, spread out under her, strong arms flexing as he held onto her thrusting hips, his face flushed and his bottom lip caught in his teeth.

On her next slide forward, her clit caught on the edge of his glans, and it was like a dam burst in her. Sam lost all thought, ground her wet cunt hard against his thick, rock-hard cock as she chased her orgasm, dragging her clit over the edge of him, over and over again. It was unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Bright bursts of shocky pleasure ran through her, winding her tighter and tighter.

Dean lay there, watching his sister getting herself off on his dick with single-minded determination, her warm wet pussy dripping girl-juice all over his dick, so much it was running down over his balls. This was the sexiest thing he had ever seen, bar none. His baby sister, so dirty, so beautiful, grinding down on him, lost in pleasure, the head of his cock peeking out from her slick folds with a wet squelch on every thrust.

“Made me come so hard before, sweetheart. You liked it? Liked making me come?” Sam writhed harder against him. “Yeah, I think you liked making big brother come. Mhmm, just like I like making you come, too. You want that? Want to come now, baby girl? Come all over my cock?”

Sam almost wailed as Dean licked his fingers, then reached up and gently pinched her hard nipples, tugged at them, twisted them, knowing now just how good it could feel.

“Yeah, don’t hold back. Let me hear you, sweetheart. Wanna hear you when you make yourself come all over me. Fuck. So good. Feels so good. Baby…got me so hard. Gonna make me come again. ‘M right there with you…”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck…coming…Dean!” she cried out, hips spasming as she came, shuddering as she ground down against him through it. She was in a daze, her clit throbbing with each wave of bliss that washed over her. She looked down at her brother, so gorgeous, neck strained, chest flushed, as he started to come with her. 

He stared up into pools of gold, blue, and green, and everything inside him narrowed down, then burst out, a broken sound from his deep in his throat as he came with her, each pulse so hard it was almost painful. Thick ropes of come shot up onto his belly, his chest, his throat. 

Sam eyed them, fascinated, then slid back a little, careful of his leg. She bent her head down and stuck out her little pink tongue, and started lapping his come up off of his belly.

Dean, for once in his life, was absolutely speechless. He could only stare, his dick gamely twitching in time with each lick and suck, as his sister cleaned every drop of come from him with her mouth.

She looked down at him, corners of her eyes suspiciously damp. “You make me so happy. Love you, De.”

He crushed her down to him, kissed her ravenously, put every bit of love he had for her into it. He ravished her mouth, tasted himself on her tongue, licked into her, softer and slower, soothing her kiss-plumped lips, finished with a chaste kiss on her beautiful mouth, stared into her eyes.

“Love you. Love you so damn much.”

“Forever.”

“Forever.”

~*~

They dozed in the warm sunshine for a while. Dean stirred first, yawned and stretched.

Sam looked over at the clock. “Time for your pills. Last dose.” She looked at his leg, glad that it was healing well. She’d take the stitches out later tonight, after his last pain meds.

“Want me to bring them in here?” He looked so calm and peaceful, such a rare thing for her to see. It was a good look on him. 

“Nah, let’s get up. Maybe there’s something on tv worth watching.”

They got dressed in t-shirts and comfy sweats, Sam tugging them over Dean’s hips. She helped him over to the bathroom, then the couch, got him comfortable. She clicked around on the 4 channels that came in on the old, battered tv.

There was a western on, and Dean’s face lit up as he beamed a wide smile at her. He rattled out little details about this one, his favorite (they were all his favorite, as far as Sam could tell). Dean loved westerns, swore he’d been a cowboy in a previous life, and she loved Dean, so they were watching a western. She loved seeing him so happy. God, it didn’t really take much, did it? She was going to do everything she could to make him smile like that as often as possible.

She went into the kitchen and made them some PB&J’s, then brought them out with some sodas and his last dose of pain pills. 

“Hey De? I read you can make a guy’s come taste different if you don’t eat meat, or eat lots of pineapple. We should experiment.”

His brain screeched to a halt as he choked on a chunk of sandwich, Sam patting his back in alarm.

“What the…” he coughed out. “Fuck, Sammy! You can’t just blurt something like that out – give a guy some warning. And just where the hell did you read that, anyway?” Did she learn that in school? What the hell were they teaching there these days?

“At the library, Dean. Sheesh.” She looked at him, nonplussed. “Anyway, we should try different things and see if it works, right?” She went back to watching the movie. 

“Sure, Sammy. Whatever you want.” He shook his head at his gorgeous, sexy, brainiac little sister as he made a note to himself to keep a closer eye on her in libraries from now on.

He turned back to the tv. The sun was shining, they had the place to themselves, Yul Brynner and Steve McQueen were kicking Eli Wallach’s ass on tv, Sammy was by his side – life really didn’t get much better than this. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thank you for reading!
> 
> Comments and constructive criticism welcome - please let me know what you think! (Please be gentle on the first-time author who only had the best of intentions.)


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